


Curious Traveler

by Silentmidnightdeath



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silentmidnightdeath/pseuds/Silentmidnightdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wisest of the youngsters quietly tilted her head back to stare up into the clear blue sky, unbothered by the sea wind that suddenly picked up and played with her brunette locks, twisting her ringlet curls all over, causing some of the beads in her hair to tinkle as they were knocked together. She brought her seemingly ancient hazel eyes down on them all, gazing at them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Introduction

Under a bright, hot sun, sweat gleaming on skin, creating a golden sheen to tanned flesh, the air carried hints of laughter and the rolling of ocean waves. Calloused hands gripped rough rope as the shoulders strained to draw the heavy weight, though this was done easily, with years of practice. There was general good-natured teasing, and jovial jokes swapped amongst all who worked collaboratively on this task of drawing the heavy net, writhing with fish, from the sea beneath them that swelled and rolled, rocking the flat-bottomed boat that bare feet were firmly planted upon. With a nearly simultaneous grunt, all who had labored on this effort dragged the net onto the deck, and new hands took over as others onboard began to sort through that which the net haulers had brought up from the depths, throwing some undesirable objects back, while others were placed in barrels and hauled away down below. There wasn't just light laughter and relaxed chatter, there was faint music drifting through the air, as some of those who were too old, young, or infirm to aid in the heavy work were playing a merry and jaunty tune to keep the workers spirits up. Every man, woman, and child here had chosen to be here, and though times were lean, all were smiling and in good cheer. At that moment there was a particularly boisterous round of laughter as some of the men caught sight of a familiar figure up in the rigging. The figure grabbed hold of a rope and took off a running start, attempting to swing down and around to land on the deck, but failing miserably and getting tangled up in other ropes, leaving him to hang awkwardly by his ankle as his hands gripped onto that rope for dear life.

"Oy! That idiot bro'er of yours has got himself roped up again!" The middle-aged man who shouted this was quickly met by rounds of laughter from those around him at his turn of phrase.

The person to whom he was appealing, a worker who had been helping haul in the net, just smiled light heartedly and shaded her eyes so she could look at the mess her brother had gotten himself into once more. "Ach, well, you know how those young 'uns are! Always wantin' to copy their elder siblin's." Her words drew up more raucous laughter. Despite the teasing tone, and the sarcastic wording, still she walked her way to the mast and agilely climbed her way up to where the younger lad had gotten himself stuck. "Ho there, little brother!" She laughed merrily as she waved to his stuck figure.

He shot her a look that might've scared off a seagull. "Stop foolin' around and get me down from here!" He demanded, his black as pitch shaggy locks sliding down off of his forehead to shade his eyes, forcing him to shake his head to move them away again, as he refused to release the rope from his grasp. Like most boys of his age, he had hit that awkward gangly phase, where he was all limbs, not to mention he was growing like a weed.

"Ah, not to worry, ya lil' ragamuffin, we'll have you down in a jiffy." She winked at him, grinning broadly all the while as she lightly walked across one of the beams until she could reach the rope he was attached to and the one it was very firmly wrapped around.

Rather than comfort him, however, it seemed to have the opposite effect as he clutched his rope tighter and looked at her with a suspicious light in his eyes. Before, however, he could bring his suspicions to fruition and daylight by voicing them, his sister had already freed his rope from its entanglement and waved to him grinning as he suddenly fell, as if the very floor had dropped out from under him in a gut wrenching plummet. As he was falling, the rope, finding a new momentum with its release and the resuming of his weight, swung far out to the left, far over the railing on the deck, leaving him far out over the ocean. By this point, his shriek had already pierced the air as he clutched tightly to the rope, wide eyed, even as those on deck chuckled at his misfortune. Naturally, the rope could only go so far, being only so long, and he came round in a large arc in a rush, and suddenly the deck was underneath him again. It still being a ten foot drop to the safety of the woody decking, he refused to release his rope. However, it barely even reached the railing this time as it continued its circular momentum, wrapping itself around the mast as it slowed down until he felt safe enough to release it. Tumbling to the decking, he managed to right himself rather quickly, looking around and crossing his arms with a huff and a faint blush as the others around him chuckled and shook their heads, some teasing him good naturedly, others patting his shoulder. Whether in encouragement or sympathy he didn't know.

As if to only rub his nose in his own unaptness, his sister made her way down by making a leap of faith. She jumped out off of the spar, snagging onto the rope that had stopped his own momentum, swinging out and around, coming towards them rapidly. Though she too swung out over the sea for a moment, it was obvious she was in complete and utter control as she landed lightly on the deck next to them, one hand wrapped around the rope as she grinned at him with that dastardly lopsided smirk while her brilliant hazel eyes twinkled. Her wild tumbledown brown curls resettled themselves down her back and shoulders after their little play in the wind. "Ah, don't give me that look, little brother. 'Tis not my fault you tried to do something so difficult."

He huffed again and looked away, tilting his chin up defiantly, clearly pouting. "But you make it look so easy." He countered, cutting her a glare out of the corner of his eyes.

They were interrupted by the soft clump of booted footsteps as a man approached them. He had the same shaggy hair as the boy, though it was more brunette, but his eyes were a blazing shade of emerald green, and they looked upon the scene with amusement. Most would not have pegged him as being any older than in his late twenties or maybe his very early thirties, he was obviously rather young. Despite this, there was nothing but the utmost respect shown to him as he approached. The other men and women previously surrounding them backed up a little, all acknowledging him, some with a head tilt, others going so far as to bow. "Captain."

He had that same crooked little smile as the young woman. "What's going on here you two? Are my children really so incapable of getting along?" He chuckled lightly as he gave the boy a light cuff on the shoulder before mussing up his hair and then reaching over to tweak his daughter's nose. She merely stuck her tongue out in a response. "So, I have a nineteen year old who acts like she's nine and a thirteen year old whose acting like he's four."

The boy immediately stiffened up, looking up at the slightly older man in surprise. "I-I am not! I am being perfectly mature, unlike my sister!" He argued, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on his hips, adopting a defensive and scolding stance, looking like many a scorned wife about to get on her husband about his latent problems.

"Oh, come off it Andraste." She said light heartedly, twirling away gracefully, only sparing a single glance for him over her shoulder as she spun away. She came to a stop next to the few musicians, all of whom had stopped playing so as to better observe the usual mischief that came to be whenever the two siblings were together. Inevitably one or the other did something worth watching, and when the two of them argued, it was the best sport for gambling on in the ship as to who would win.

Their father, the captain, just chuckled at his children. They were so full of life, and a bit of good natured disagreement was only natural, and they got on quite well really. Just playful teasing and what not, nothing worth being worried over, that was for certain. Leaving the two to their little spat, he smiled lightly as he walked away, back towards the helm. His smile would have been wider if not for the news he had received. He and his folk were on their way back into port anyways, but the message he had gotten was urgent and demanded that he change his course, taking on an even longer journey. All it took was a single gesture and his daughter was by his side, her brother knowing to back off for such a serious matter. Already the elder members of those under his care were gathered near the wheel, some standing silently, others murmuring quietly to one another. He gave his daughter a reassuring pat before joining them, with her standing strong by his side.

"Captain." Was the quiet greeting he received from those present, who all acknowledged his daughter with just as much respect. "Mythera." It wasn't because of the fact she was his daughter, it was because of the things she had done for them in the past. She may only have been nineteen, but she had lived a long and full life already. He only wished he could've taken better care of her, but he was proud of the woman she had become.

"So, what are we going to do about this, Darzule?" One of the oldest people onboard addressed, his large beard snowy white, and his bright and lively brown eyes nearly hidden behind the wrinkles of laugh lines. The elder leaned on a stick, observing them quietly.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark brown hair, causing it only to become messier from its natural shaggy state. "We can't just ignore it. The Grey Grandfather has been a good friend to our people, and he is not asking for much. My only fear is that those back home will hear of what we have done and doubt us."

"A reasonable fear." A different man spoke. He towered over them all, with a deep baritone voice and the strength of an ox. He was in fact the first mate, second in command, overruled only by Darzule, and, on those occasions in which it was necessary or he allowed it, his captain's daughter. "But it is as you have said. Who are we to deny the Grey Grandfather what he has asked after so many years of friendship?"

Darzule nodded his head, turning to look out to see, his arms crossed in thought, his normally twinkling emerald eyes chilled by his deep mental inquiry. "What say you, Mythera?" He asked his steadfast yet flighty daughter, curious as to hear what she had to say about all this. She knew what was going on; she had been there when he opened the letter and had in fact read it over his shoulder. He trusted her judgment, and so did all the rest here on this ship.

The wisest of the youngsters quietly tilted her head back to stare up into the clear blue sky, unbothered by the sea wind that suddenly picked up and played with her brunette locks, twisting her ringlet curls all over, causing some of the beads in her hair to tinkle as they were knocked together. "We should go. I see no reason why not. And if there are those who are more concerned as to the thoughts of the rest of our kin then…" She brought her seemingly ancient hazel eyes down on them all, gazing at them with a calm determination. "I shall go alone; set me ashore and I shall make my way on foot to where the Grey Grandfather has requested us. It would not be the first time I had answered to him and to the call of the winds that rouse the fires in my heart. The rest of you can return and speak to our kin, and thus if I have acted wrongly, let me alone stand accused for it. Blame it on my youth if you will."

They all stood silent, in thought, for many moments, before the great bearing man spoke up, his gruff voice cutting through the tense air like a sharp blade as he set his hand on her shoulder. "It will not be I who abandons you. You are right in that this should be our course of action. I do not dare speak for others, but I shall follow you, you have never led us astray before."

The eldest of them, shook his head, his white beard wagging. "I do not doubt the lady's leadership, nor that she is just in her course of actions, but I do fear as to what that treacherous serpent's actions will be if you are away too long, Darzule. Some things are simply more important than old friends, you know that."

Darzule sighed heavily once again. Here, yet again, he was handing the burden of answering to the Grey Grandfather's call to his daughter. "Yes, I know Yzni. Mythera….my child, forgive me for once more placing such a heavy weight on your young shoulders." He said slowly, sighing as he sets his hands on her shoulders, displacing the other man's. A small smile crept its way onto his face, and faint laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes as he gazed into hers. "My, look how old your eyes have become! Soon you shall be older than me and this old man combined! What then shall I do? What joys and sorrows will I see when I look into my beloved daughters eyes?"

She was tempted to shake her head at him, but refrained, gazing back at him, with her ancient eyes in her young face, before her lips split apart in a light hearted grin and her eyes twinkled at him, and there was his youthful daughter back again. "Yes, and then I shall be a veritable old crone!" Her voice held the hint of a laugh, ringing out merrily. "Whatever joys and sorrows the world has to offer me, to teach me the ways of those of us who are still young enough to learn!" She reached up and removed his hands from her shoulders, holding them gently in her own for just a few moments. "Just one thing."

"Oh?" He inquires curiously, though he already knows what is coming, as did anyone who had ever watched the father and daughter part.

"Promise me this." She looked at him with a face of seriousness, yet still that light remained in her eyes. "Whenever you see a white rose, remember me."

Darzule lightly tucked a piece of his child's hair behind her ear. "How could I not my dear? I promise." He smiled at her, watching as she slowly pulled away from him, turning away and taking those first few steps on her journey. He gave her hand one last squeeze before it slipped out his grasp, as she gracefully made her way back out onto the main deck, and then, he knew, to down below to her quarters to gather what few belongings she had and some other necessaries, like rations. And once they had put into shore, she would be gone like a song on the breeze. He sighed softly as he dropped his hand back to his side.

Yzni patted his shoulder comfortingly. "She has all the grace and wisdom of her mother, and all the strength and the open heart of her father. She'll be just fine, laddie buck." The old man smiled lightly as he too watched her go. "You make the same promise with her that you used to with her mother. Isn't that from a lullaby she used to sing Mythera when she was but a babe?"

"Yes. I wonder what she would say if she could see her daughter now…. I have a feeling she'd be just as proud as I am." His voice slowly trailed off for a moment, before he shook himself. "Come along, Yzni, we need to get this ship pointed towards the land so we can drop off our youthful travelers to their adventures and then head home." For a moment, he heard a voice that he hadn't truly heard in over fifteen years.

" _Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think of me. I love you so. I'll be here waiting for you to come home to me."_

**AN: Hello my friends~! It is a pleasure to be meeting you!  I'd been wanting to write a story with these characters for soooooo long, and then I found this song, and I swear I am obsessed.**

**Anyways, thank you all very much for reading this! Please feel free to leave a comment/review! I enjoy receiving criticism, it helps me to better my writing so I can give you guys even awesomer stories! See you soon!**


	2. Of Beginnings

 

"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began..." - JRR Tokien

Of Beginnings

It was only natural that her brother would find out about her little jaunt. Nonetheless, that did not make his expected pestering any the less annoying.

"Why can't I come along?" He demanded, sitting on her floor with his legs crossed and his hands braced on them as he leaned forward. "You always get to go! I never get to do anything fun! Nobody respects me like they do you!"

She sighed heavily as she finished her packing. She had already retrieved rations from the kitchen; they had been left in the care of her traveling companion, the large ox-ish man, and she was now working on clearing out what few belongings she had brought with her into a rucksack. With a frown, she kneeled down so that she was on his level, having set her bag down in her hammock for a moment while she confronted him. Setting her hands on his shoulders, she gazed into his stunningly honey colored eyes. "Then this is your opportunity to do so. While I'm gone, people will expect you to step up and start taking on some of my duties. This is your chance to earn their respect. You say you want this chance? Then take it. You'll earn more favor by staying here than hiking halfway across the world with me." She told him seriously, releasing him from her grip but not her gaze as she straightened up.

Slowly, he looked away, breaking their eye contact. "Fine. I'll stay." He muttered, seemingly displeased at being convinced to something contrary to what he had originally wanted. Really, he was just concerned about his sister, not that he would be much help. Still, he was young yet and he turned back to look at her, a new light in his eyes, eager. "Do you really think that they'll start to respect me?"

Mythera shook her head and laughed softly as she turned her back on him and finished packing away her meager things. A few changes of clothes, a couple of trinkets with nothing more than sentimental value, a small coin purse, and that was all. "Oh, aye, I'm sure that they will… **if** and only if, you take over for me while I'm gone. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded his head eagerly as he leaned so far forward he over balanced a little. She was just glad to see a smile back on his face and to have some peace from his badgering. He leapt up and danced a little jig before assisting her in collecting her traveling companion and their rations, carrying them up onto deck with her.

She set down the packages she was carrying and her rucksack, and turned to face him. "Andraste, you need to promise me something."

The boy looked up to his older sister with wide eyes and nodded his head. "Of course, anything."

She smiled lightly. "Don't agree to make promises to others if you don't even know what they're going to ask." She chided him gently, before reaching over to brush his bangs away from his wide young doe eyes. "Promise me, you'll think of me whenever you see a white rose."

Andraste nodded, before furrowing his brow in confusion and curiosity. "Why a white rose? Why not a more colorful flower, like those purple ones you're so fond of?" He asked, tilting his head slightly as he thought.

"Well, the white rose is the ghost of all roses so to speak; pale, lovely white, the most beautiful of all and yet so often overlooked. But really, the reason why, is that's the promise that mother and father always made, as well as me and father too. You're old enough to be a part of it now. It was before your time, but mother always used to sing me the most wonderful lullaby about white roses." She explained, knowing that he wouldn't know or remember. He wasn't even born when her mother passed away, leaving her and her father alone. They had always been tight knit, and that loss had only drawn them closer, and once he joined them, Andraste had become part of their warm family easily.

Pretending to understand, the boy just beginning his teen years nodded accordingly. The only part he truly understood was the mention of her mother and their promises. He knew that these things were important to her. "I promise. You'll be my ghost of a rose." He said, his honey colored eyes darkening with his serious expression.

The brunette young woman smiled lightly. "Good boy. Now smile for me." She reached out and ruffled his hair as her traveling companion approached them.

"Are you ready?" He inquired in his rich, deep gruff voice. He truly was a great giant of a man, she thought to herself as she had to crane her neck a bit to look into his eyes. He was certainly a great deal taller than her meager five foot four inches. Shaking off her distracting thoughts, she nodded her head confidently.

With a grin she reached up to pat the man's shoulder. "Of course I am. Are you?"

The man nodded silently. "Name's Feldar, by the way." He finally introduced himself to the young woman, though she had already known who he was – her father had given her his name after he vouched for her and agreed to accompany her.

"A pleasure to meet you, my friend." She gave him her bright, cheeky little lopsided grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling up slightly in amusement. Mythera was truly looking forward to this journey and the opportunity to make herself more familiar with her traveling companion. "Let us go speak to Papa then, and be on our merry way."

Feldar nodded his head, his tall frame easily making its way across the deck to the helm where her father was standing. He turned his attention towards them. "Ah, ready to go are you? We will reach the point shortly and you will disembark there. I assume you've already received both your map and your rations?" He received dual nods from both of them in answer. "Very good then." He smiled lightly, before his expression lit up in remembrance. "Oh! Here, you should take this as well. Though Grey Grandfather knows you on sight my daughter, I would prefer it if we could guarantee that the hosts of this event will not turn you away." He pulled from his coat pocket a letter, neatly folded but slightly creased and worn from a great deal of handling. Darzule handed this letter to his daughter quietly, watching as she took it without a word and flashed him a small, brilliant smile as she tucked it safely away into her belt pouch.

"Never fear, Papa. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll make sure to bring my friend here back in one piece to." She joked lightly. The young lady found partings were made easier if she made light of them and relieved the tensions of those around her.

Even the great bear of a man smiled at her bravery. Well, perhaps it wasn't what most would define as bravery, but it was hard not to acknowledge her as doing something for others. She was an interesting slip of a woman. Then again, that wasn't a very accurate description of her either. She was the definition of a mature woman. Feldar chuckled softly, nodding his head. "And I'll bring this little insolent whelp home safe and sound, no doubt after much mischief and troubles of my own with her as the cause."

This caused everyone with hearing range to laugh, before the man perched up on the mast called out the water had grown shallow and the point was just ahead. This made both of them return to where they had each left their bags. She slung her rucksack upon her shoulders easily, before taking on an additional pack, filled with other necessities. Each of them was carrying two bags, they had tried to be as prepared as possible for their travels. Once the ship was anchored as close as could be to the shore - due to her relatively flat keel this was easy, leaving them only about fifty feet from the water's edge - she and her companion climbed down over the side, standing in the waist deep water as they waded to shore.

Unbothered by the water, she found herself reminded of a song she had often heard aboard the ship, and without a fear began to sing it out loudly. It brought a smile to her face as she heard people on the boat pick it up as well. She figured it was a fitting song, about a treacherous water spirit that led sailors to their death. "And all the waves will bow down to the Loreley!"* She sung it out til the end, though they had since reached the shore and left the boat behind them.

On the ship, the captain watched them go, smiling at the tune. It was certainly fitting, though his eldest child was nearly a perfect fit for the description of the water spirit. Eventually, he lost sight of them, and he had to turn his ship homeward bound once more. It pained him to not be able to see her off properly, or better yet, go with her, but he knew she was in good hands. She had proven herself many times over, but as her father, he always fretted over her. He still had Andraste to look after, and with his position, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Not for the first time, he hated his position as chieftain - it was so restricting. Always he had to watch from the sidelines as she conquered the threats that came against her people, as he had in his youth. Though maybe, he conquered them now in a different way. He chuckled as a verse from the song suddenly lingered in his mind. _"Though the song of Loreley charms the moon right from the sky, she will get inside your mind, lovely Loreley."*_ His daughter certainly could be charming, and she often was in his thoughts. He supposed that was all he could do for now - pray to the Elder Spirits to watch over his daughter and guide her truly in her journey.

*** = Both pieces, and the quote from the top, are from the song Loreley, by Blackmore's Night.**

**I'm putting my disclaimer down here, since I only own my characters, and nothing else. I felt like it wasn't really necessary because last chapter was strictly mine.**

**Hello again! I have at last retrieved my chapter and will now continue our wonderful journey together! I'm very excited for my many ideas for this story. I certainly hope it will all work out as I have planned! Don't be afraid to R &R, tell me what you think. The more reviews, the more motivation for me to write!**


	3. Of Journeys

 

 

"Wild were the winds that came, in the thunder and the rain, nothing ever could contain the rising of the storm..." – Blackmore's Night

Of Journeys

Currently, the duo was traipsing through a thick patch of underbrush under a canopy of trees. The pair had been traveling for nearly a fortnight now – thankfully the journey had been uneventful so far, for which they were both grateful. Unfortunately, their good fortune wouldn't last much longer, though neither of them knew it. Mythera remained in good spirits the entire time they traveled, often humming or even going so far as to burst out in song – though she kept it relatively quiet so as to not draw too much attention to herself. Feldar was fairly good company, she discovered, though he was quiet often, when he did speak, he could be quite amusing. Not only that, but that he was a far better cook than herself. She had never been much of a one for the homemaking arts, and while she could cobble together edible food, his was some of the best food she'd ever had while traveling. Since he was designated the task of cooking, the little brunette made it her duty to hunt for the fresh meat they used to supplement their rations. Often, all she caught was rabbit, and occasionally she snagged a squirrel or two. For the most part, she avoided larger game, like deer, since between the two of them, there was no need for so much meat. Each night the made camp a little before sunset, giving themselves time to set up before the sun vanished from the world and was replaced by starry skies. Most nights they didn't bother posting a watch, the calmness of the woods about them told them there was no danger about.

Feldar was working on getting a fire going, while she went to see if she could get anything to supplement their rations. Not just game – even wild vegetables were preferable to the hard bread and salted meat in their packs. Hiding in the thick underbrush that had caused them so much trouble while traveling, she crouched low to the ground as she carefully made her way forward, creeping slowly, and to her ears, nearly silently. She had thought she had heard something – she was hoping it was a rabbit, but it sounded far larger than that. What she found was not nearly so pleasing. She heard them and smelt them before she caught sight of them. She quickly backtracked, but was not watching where she stepped. The brunette froze as a stick crunched underfoot, and she heard the ruckus before her grow louder. Choosing speed over stealth, she whirled and fled, her slender legs allowing her to flee back to camp quickly. She ended up having to leap over the newly laid fire, unable to bring herself to a proper halt right away. "We need to go, now!" She told him urgently.

Knowing that such a cause of haste was not something to be questioned, Feldar assisted her in rapidly packing back up – thankfully they had not had much out. Realizing they had no time to truly snuff the fire, they threw dirt over it and fled into the night. Mythera lead him deeper into the woods, where the hills grew steep as they met up with the feet of the mountains. She was quick to scramble up a well leafed oak, crouching low to a branch and nearly holding her breath in anxiety. The larger man had a harder time managing such a feat – he settled instead for climbing on top of a discarded boulder from some long forgotten landslide and laying there, watching warily.

They sat there in tense silence for what felt like hours upon end. However, it seemed that the creatures had somehow passed them by – whether because they had no tracked them, or whether they were simply too well hidden, neither knew, and nor did they particularly care, just glad to be safe. Feldar slowly made his way to the base of the tree she was perched in. "What shall we do?" He called up to her, keeping his voice low and quiet.

"I think we ought to spend the night up here." She replied softly as she moved lower down in the tree, intending to help him. It was a sturdy old oak, and had thick branches she felt could support his weight.

With her help, the large man managed to scramble into the tree awkwardly, settling down on one of the thicker branches, leaning his back against the trunk and stretching his legs out before him. She moved higher up in the tree, finding where the trunk split into a 'Y' and settled herself into the ledge between the two sides comfortably. They slept uneasily there until the sun peaked over the trees. Then, the pair made their descent back to solid ground, where they shared a wary glance.

"The path is dangerous." The big man rumbled as he pulled out their map and spread it across a fallen tree so he could look at it better. "We must hurry to our destination."

She hummed in agreement as she peered at the map, lightly tapping it with her finger. "I think we are about here." She tried tracing a few different paths with her finger along the map. They were approximately halfway to their destination. The main issue for the pair of them was that they were on the wrong side of the dell – they had to finish crossing through the Weather Hills, ford the river Hoarwell, and then cut through the Trollshaws, before coming into the valley and then to the city where the Grey Grandfather had said to meet him. It was a dangerous path –the Trollshaws were named so for a reason, and the Weather Hills weren't exactly friendly either, as they had just discovered. Their ship had let them off in the Ice Bay. They were currently traveling through the lands of Arnor – the ancient kingdom of Angmar was to the north.

Feldar nodded his head, his shaggy hair having fallen out of its queue during their little misadventure. "I think we are best suited to simply head straight for the mountains and into the valley." He traced the path on the map.

Mythera was quick to agree – best to keep things simple so they didn't get lost – she may have been well versed in the wild, but her sense of direction was only average. The two gypsies were quick to resume their travel, however, rather than fighting their way through the wilds, they tried instead to simply slip by. This method worked relatively well. The pair still ended up spending a few nights in the trees, due to the sheer number of orcs in the area. Eventually, they made it to the river Hoarwell. The crossing was a bit treacherous – as summer changed to fall, the rains had swollen the river. Still, they managed well enough. Both were sailors for years of their life – they were strong swimmers should such a skill be necessary. Thankfully, by putting their heads together they came up with a much simpler solution – by stretching a rope across the river, the brunette woman could scurry across and secure another three ropes so her larger companion could make his way across. Then, she darted back across and threw all but one of the ropes to him, before making her way to where several rocks protruded from the river. With Feldar holding onto one end of the rope, and her hands firmly secured around the other after tying it around her waist, she leapt from rock to slippery rock until she reached the opposite shore.

Her agility and balance had come from years of disciplined training, though not for what one might guess. While she was more than capable of fending for herself, and a decent swordsman and archer, her true passion lay in music. Not playing an instrument – she could manage a simple fife only – but by singing and dancing. The traits learned from those skills had turned out to be applicable to many parts of a more dangerous life. She was quick and light on her feet, and quite flexible. Also, dancing had kept her figure slim – there was not much excess on her, she was nearly all slim, wiry muscle. Years of sailing had also helped harden her – her hands were coated in calluses from hauling the ropes, and her feet were much the same for she preferred to be barefoot. She was able to tolerate the heat well, though she had rarely been tested against the cold.

Mythera's companion was nearly the complete opposite – he was large, towering over her, and well-built with thick layers of sinew and muscle. He was a great warrior, or so she had been told, and preferred a poleax to a sword. His hands too were callused, and they were both tanned by the sun under which they lived. He was not as quick nor light as she, but he could deliver a single blow to stun and down a man. His eyes were sharp as well, and he could think quickly, and their combined wits had proven useful. Each had different strong points, and both were well-natured, leading to a cohesive companionship, allowing them to work together to conquer the obstacles they faced without any consequences yet.

They were both filled with deep relief when they excited the Trollshaws and found themselves gazing upon the road. Still, they held onto their wariness as they traveled – these were dark days and not all could be trusted. With the road beneath their feet, the pair were able to speed up their journey, covering greater distances quickly. Mythera's spirits had been dampened only a little by their troubles, and she was still quick to a song or to hum a tune. Her brave cheerfulness in such a grave hour bolstered her companion's spirits as well. Feldar no longer hesitated to add his rich baritone to her cheery mezzo-soprano, and they made quite the pair as they at last reached the ford across the Bruinen. Both were pleased by the good time they had made, as they made their way across the ford and then along the last leg of their journey until they at last entered the good city of Rivendell.

There were guards awaiting them at the mouth of the city, though it seemed the pair were in luck, for the lord of the realm was there also, seeing off several riders. The elven lord turned his attention to the two wanderers after the riders were gone. "And who might you be, to seek the shelter of Imladris?" His eyes observed them, and the brunette saw in his eyes the same age and sorrow she saw oft in her fathers – the burden of the crown, she knew.

"I am Mythera Zara, and my companion is Feldar Conmara. The one you call Gandalf the Grey sent for us." She introduced them each in turn, then waited for the elven lord's response.

His grey eyes flashed lightly at the name of the wandering wizard. "I am afraid Gandalf is not here." He said grimly as he gazed at them more, taking in their road worn appearance. "Come, and let us find you a room to stay and allow you to recover from your journey. If you are in need of the date, it is October 11th." The dark haired elf gestured for them to follow him into the beautiful city.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing other than my characters, all else belongs to their proper owners.  
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**Thank you all for reading my lovely story! And I thank my reviewers for their wonderful support! Now, in case any of you have any questions about my timeline and what not, allow me to explain. I have a full sized map of M.E., and am also referencing my books - it took the hobbits approximately a month to travel from the Shire to Rivendell. Now, I measured that distance, and found it was about the same as it would be if, for example, one set off from Ice Bay to the north. So, that's where my gypsies got dropped off, and I figured about a month of travel. Also, as to the dating - Glorfindel states that they have been looking for the hobbits for nine days - Frodo crosses the ford on the 20th, so the riders left on the 11th. The reason that the gypsies are there so early, is that I am stating that Gandalf sent them a letter months ahead of time, to anticipate travel difficulties, ect. (Though there are other reasons yet to be revealed as well. Can't make it too simple.) So, they arrive nearly two weeks before our beloved Ringbearer.**

**That is all I shall explain for now, I think, though I will answer any questions you have for me.**


	4. Of Elven Cities

 

"If this road, this series of stepping stones, leads nowhere, then so be it. I walk the road with friends, and so I have my home." – Drizzt Do'Urden

Of Elven Cities

As they followed the Elven lord, Mythera found herself impressed by the sweeping beauty of the elven city, especially how it blended with the natural elements that surrounded the buildings, and the gardens that were everywhere. She made no attempts to hide her awe, and openly commented that Rivendell was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen.

To which the lord replied: "I seem to recall you saying much the same last you were here." He cast her a slight look, and found a beaming smile on her face.

"And I will continue to say the same!" She said cheerfully as she looked about. "For it is true, and my opinion remains unchanged." While she was seemingly at home in the lovely spiraling city, her companion suffered a little discomfort. He had never traveled these lands before, yet his lady's attitude assisted in relaxing him. If such was her behavior, then they could not be in any immediate danger.

For the familiar visitor, all it took was a few glances about to ascertain that they were not only visitors the elves were currently harboring – this event was larger than the Grey Grandfather had given led to. Giving the lord of the household a shrewd look, the brunette contemplated how to get the answers she needed from him. She wouldn't act foolishly, not here where already there was much scrutiny – elves and their visitors alike who saw them paused momentarily in their pathways and duties to gaze upon the newest additions.

They certainly stuck out, their attire assured that. Dressed in faded, once bright and saturated colors, though the fabric itself was heavily worn, they drew the eyes to them in riots of color. Not only that, but their style of dress significantly different from any of those present. Loose, baggy pants that cinched at the ankles, with equally loose shirts, with each adorning long strips of fabric resembling scarves, save that these were wound around the waist or torso. Even their footwear was strange – rather than boots the other travelers wore or the slippers the elves adorned, they wore a type of sandal. (This was due to the fact that the gypsies were used to going barefoot and often foregone shoes, so they were often uncomfortable wearing the heavy boots men were fond of. Occasionally they will wear slippers as of the fashion of the elves.) And it was not there that their differences ended – only the most suntanned of men could have begun to approach the color of their skin. Tanned, with an almost coppery golden sheen, this too made them stick out amongst the pale fair elves, and relatively fair men, drawing speculation as to the newcomers' origin. Both Feldar and Mythera had pulled their hair back out of their faces using leather bindings, though she had her hair wrestled into a braid.

This was not just a matter of convenience for travel – there was a hidden purpose to this as well. With the two of them dressed nearly identically (only other gypsies would recognize and understand the few differences – such as the color of their sashes), though she was a fair bit shorter than the broad shouldered man beside her, there would be no reason for anyone to think anything special of the two strangers. Mythera had done this so as to better be able to pose as a man – she knew how those of the race of Men felt about the place of women. The elves were more flexible on this subject, but not anywhere near the level of the gypsy folk.

Turning back to Lord Elrond after they had left the public vicinities of Rivendell, the young woman had some questions. "You said Gandalf is not here. Where is he then?" She asked, standing straight and tall, trying to make herself seem more imposing.

The elf frowned and his brow furrowed as he rubbed his temple lightly. "I do not know. He has been missing for some time. Our hope is that he is with the halflings." He explained as he turned his wise gaze on her. "But now I must ask; why are you here _mellonamin_?"

Returning the slightly scrutinizing gaze, she removed the letter from her pocket and simply handed it over to him. "As I said before: Gandalf called us here. Well, called me here, and my father ensured I did not travel alone." She paid no mind to her currently silent companion, if he took issue to the way she presented them, she knew he would hold his tongue until they were alone.

The Elven lord's eyes skimmed over the page quickly as he nodded and handed it back to her. "Then I must assume he has summoned you here for the council. No doubt he wishes to encourage your further involvement." With that, he excused himself to his office, leaving the pair to their own devices.

Shaking her head slightly, a faint smile curling the corner of her lips, she looked at Feldar. The other gypsy looked a tad overwhelmed, but she supposed that was understandable – she felt much the same the first time she came here. "Come, we should go settle into our rooms." Before he could question her, she led him through the many halls of the buildings until she reached a pair of rooms side by side. They were in one of the more reclusive regions of the city, each with a balcony leading out to overlook a lovely garden that was easily reached from the same hall. These rooms had oft been reserved for the lady gypsy and her father – she assumed that though the lord may have not made it seem so, he had been expecting them, as she knew Gandalf would have made no secret of her coming to him.

After escorting her companion to his room and closing the door on him, she stepped within the embrace of the familiar surroundings of her own quarters. Mythera set her belongings down and stretched, smiling as she looked around. As with all the rooms here, the architecture was exquisite with white marble and gorgeous carvings that seemed to catch the light just so, and the room felt wide and airy. The perhaps overly large bed was draped in beautiful rich cotton and silk sheets, and there were a few upholstered chairs, as well as a vanity and a wardrobe. With a broad smile she peeked into the great oak wardrobe that took up a whole corner of the room. Upon seeing the clothes she had been given by the elves on previous visits, she was quick to remove some fresh ones to change into. However, on this occasion it was not one of the many lovely dresses she had that she put on – no, just a lovely pale lilac tunic that hung just past her hips and a pair of simple slender grey trousers. Though to call them trousers seemed crude – they were soft and flexible, made of an unknown material. She took this opportunity to take a quick peer in the looking glass. She had done all she could to hide her womanly figure, and it seemed good enough to her. She gently smoothed down the long slender sleeves of the tunic as she smiled lightly at her reflection. While she was dressing as a man, she had no intentions of going truly out of her way to hide her gender – it wasn't truly a secret, just that it could become an inconvenience when trying to deal with the Men of the South. The Rangers would be a little more understanding, though she felt that none were currently present.

Leaving her hair pulled back and tied up, and deeming herself presentable after abandoning her sandals for a pair of soft elven slippers, she slipped out of her room, wandering down one of the many hallways that made up Rivendell. She wandered for some time, occasionally stopping to speak to elves she knew, having met them on previous travels here. (Most of said journeys had been initiated by either Gandalf or her own insatiable curiosity.) Of those elves who know her well, some reprised her for a song, but she refused them on account of that she would gladly hail to their requests later in the Hall of Fire. This was well met by many. She encountered some of the other travelers as well in her wanderings, though she acknowledged them with a graceful dip of her head, she spoke to few of them, especially the Men. Anyone of her skin color was suspicious to them.

Her attention was currently diverted by an old friend. She smiled at the elven woman as the odd pair walked side by side along the hall, and then into a path in one of the gardens. They chattered on for some time, until they came across a rather lost and dazzled Feldar. Never one to pass up a chance to tease, Mythera laughed at his condition.

"Oh my friend! Have you been star-struck by the garden, or by one of the beauties walking by?!" She laughed joyfully as she slapped his shoulder, unable to help her mirth as he blinked owlishly at her, his cheeks coloring faintly as he shut his hanging jaw and set to recovering himself.

He shook his head at her merriment. "Tis a strange place you have brought me to, milady." He said as he glanced around once more, having finally gotten his bearings.

The elf she had been walking with smiled at the light hearted exchange as she eased herself into the conversation. "We have found you just in time then. For dinner starts soon, and it would be a shame for you to have to suffer an empty belly simply because you were awed by our city." She was a radiant elf, beautiful as all, though she couldn't match the beauty of some – such as Arwen Undomiel. With that, the company of three made their way to the dining hall, where many of the elves and their visitors were just sitting down for their evening meal.

Finding seats for themselves together near the Lord and his daughter amongst other friends of the young gypsy woman, dinner was a joyful affair despite the glances and mutterings of the Men further down the table. It was the first she had seen another group as well – there were a few dwarves, all of whom were clustered close together, clearly distrusting of their hosts and less than comfortable.

Many stories were swapped between friends as her elven acquaintances asked for stories of what she had been doing during her latest absence from the Last Homely House. She had many tales for them, and regaled them with many of them, with a wide smile and quite vocally and with many energetic gestures. In fact, she did such a job of telling her tales that she even attracted the attention of the Dwarves and Men, who paused in their discomfited muttering to listen to her stories of adventures, great and small. Some even shifted from frustration or suspicion to expressions bordering on amusement or awe as the night went on. Even the elves visible relaxed – many had been tense around the Dwarves, due to a combination of their own attitudes and the unnerving suspicion of the short sturdy mountain folk. Lord Elrond even smiled a bit, pleased once more by her ability to bring people together with her talents of voice. He felt that once again, the Grey wizard had been right in involving her in the affairs of the peoples of Middle Earth.

As the meal came to an end, the elves began migrating to the Hall of Fire, and many made certain to ensure the young gypsy came along as well – even those who were not friends or acquaintances of hers dearly loved her voice – it was vivid and able to convey emotion. Though she was no elf, there was a beauty in her imperfection as she sang. That, and she always made good company for them. However, despite the many pleas, she did not answer their calls for her to sing that night, though she did tell another few tales for them instead, and so appeased them for a time.

Mythera smiled as she listened to lovely elven voices floating on the air, singing melodies that no mortal voice could hope to capture. She closed her eyes from time to time and let the music carry her away to a place where she was surrounded and rocked gently by the sea and with all those she held dear to her heart. And there she remained until one of the elves made an unusual request of her – it was one of the musicians. Would she like to dance? Well, there was only one answer to that question. The few Men who had followed into the Hall were awed and shocked, though no Dwarves were there to witness it, though they'd hear stories the next day. Graceful, lithe, she moved in ways that were beautiful and alluring, but not crude or seductive. The purpose of the dance was nothing more than her swaying to the music, and yet she did so in a way that captured the imagination. It was like the dances of neither elves nor men, indeed, neither race could justify the almost serpentine manner in which she moved.

As the music flowed to its end, she made her bows and then excused herself, returning to her chambers for the rest of the evening as she gazed up at the stars from her balcony.

The next few nights continued on in much the same manner, and the tensions that had once been high, and were still often strained, relaxed a little. Certainly there was no mingling between Dwarves and Elves, but at least it seemed no one was at one another's throats. It was dawning into the fifth day of the gypsies stay when Mythera approached Lord Elrond once more.

"You sent out those riders the day we arrived to find the little ones, as they have not yet returned, I would like your permission to seek them out as well." She explained as she stood before him, once again adopting an Elvish form of dress over her native gypsy clothes.

The Elven lord shook his head and denied her request. "I am afraid I cannot allow it." He held up a hand to prevent her protests, and she held her quiet so that he could explain. "I feel that would be counterproductive, and I shall tell you why. Gandalf called you here for a reason, and I think now I may be free to say I may have divulged it for myself; you naturally keep the peace. I feared before you arrived that I may have had a fight on my hands with so many contradicting folk together. This you have changed by your presence alone – the tensions are lesser now, though nowhere near resolution. The peace must be kept until the wizard and the halflings arrive, and I would like you to do what you can within your power to do so. You have friends among elves and dwarves alike, and you manage well enough amongst Men."

The brunette narrowed her eyes slightly as she listened, nodding her head occasionally. She spent a few moments deep in thought, eventually composing her own response. "True it is that your folk and the dwarves welcome me, but the men are suspicious – I look like one of the Haradrim to them, and they will not have their peace with me." She nodded her head, as if to accentuate her words. "However, I will remain and do as you have asked – that is," She said, a cheeky grin flashing onto her face. "I shall be myself!" She concluded with soft laughter, wondering if she might gain pardon for any pranks or the like she may pull under the guise of 'peacekeeping'.

**A/N: Please feel free to drop me a review! They help motivate me and get this updated much faster, promise.**

**Here's the translations for the Elvish I used:**

**Mellonamin:** my friend


	5. Of Songs and Laughter

 

"It is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness." –Charles Spurgeon

Of Songs and Laughter

After she had left his office in a high mood, the elven lord chuckled softly and shook his head. He knew that there may be a few small instances on his hands, now the cheerful and mischievous gypsy had gotten some ideas into her head, but he couldn't deny that as taxing as cleaning up after her would be, there would be amusement in it for him as well.

Mythera realized she had not seen her companion in some time, and thus set off to find him. Imagine her surprise upon finding him surrounded by the few elven children that lived in the city, begging him for a story. There was only four of them, but it was clear that they had the older man wrapped around their fingers. Smiling, she left them there, not bothering to intrude on the moment as he told them of one of their many journeys. She wandered her way into a garden, her hips swaying as she walked to some music that was heard only to her own ears. The brunette had a dancer's grace, and walked lightly, as only to be expected. She met a few elves along her way, and spoke with them, but they were not really those she sought.

Eventually, she did find the group she was looking for; a small cluster of dwarves on a small veranda, keeping to themselves. Stifling a giggle, she plotted out the best way to make them more at ease here in the elven city. She ended up just walking along the railing to the veranda, the pale marble cool under her bare feet. Today, she had forsaken shoes, and she wore a tunic that was a shade of saturated scarlet, it went well with her features, and a pair of light trousers such as the sort her own people wore. It began as soft hum under her breath as she made eye contact with one of the dwarves, but it quickly built into something much louder, clear as a bell.

"Dancing to the feel of the drum, leave this world behind. We'll have a drink and toast to ourselves, under a Violet Moon. Tudor Rose with her hair in curls, will make you turn and stare. Try to steal a kiss at the bridge, under a Violet Moon.

Raise your hats and your glasses too, we will dance the whole night through. We're going back to a time we knew, under a Violet Moon.

Cheers to the Knights and days of old, the beggars and the thieves, living in an enchanted wood under a Violet Moon. Fortuneteller, what do you see? Future in a card. Share your secrets, tell them to me, under a Violet Moon…."*

Her voice was in no way comparable to that of the elves, but something about it was compelling. Perhaps it was how her eyes seemed to fill with emotion and the color waver between lighter and darker. Or maybe it was the way her low rich voice seemed to dance along the notes. No matter what it was, it was strangely enchanting as she sung on. Once she was finished, one of the dwarves turned to look at her with a snort. "You're always such a show off lass."

She grinned widely at the recognition, laughing quietly. "I am, aren't I? Ah, but you and your folk enjoyed it when last I walked with your company! Alas, it is a heavy duty to keep morale up in the gloom of the rain!" She leapt down of the railing, landing amidst the group of sturdy built men. In particular her gaze remained on the one she was conversing with, he was an older dwarf, his beard having gone mostly white, but a few red streaks remained.

He rolled his eyes at her typical antics. "Zara, we had Baggins for that. You just like hearin' yoursel' talk." He sallied back.

Their light banter continued on for a few moments in much the same manner. It had a strangely relaxing effect on the surrounding dwarves, causing some even to chuckle at the way the two swapped interesting words. The group of dwarves were small – in fact, there was only four of them.

"Many years has it been, Gloin." She succumbed to their game at last, finally greeting the dwarf properly.

The old dwarf chuckled and swatted her back in amusement. "Aye, that it has lassie."

A younger dwarf looked over – he seemed the youngest in the group; though that wasn't very young even by dwarf standards. Gloin motioned him over, all smiles at the strange gypsy woman. "Mythera, this is my son, Gimli."

She did a sweeping exaggerated bow, her braid sliding over her shoulder, a huge smile on her face. She straightened to find the red haired dwarf staring at her in something akin to shock. "Yer the one who went with them?" He seemed a bit startled. "Yer the gypsy lass?"

"Indeed I am Master Dwarf!" She laughed, spinning a little as she skipped a bit, seeming dancing a few steps lightly. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She then turned back to her old friend, tutting. "You have not come to the Hall of Fire in the past four nights I have been here! Will you not come and join me?" She asked.

Gloin sighed as he gazed at the incorrigible gypsy. He had learned over their travel together that she was a hard one to deny, even though it had been sixty years since he last saw her, he remembered well. He reluctantly grumbled a bit before agreeing.

With a cheerful shout, she leapt back upon the railing, whipping out her fife and playing a merry tune as she skipped and spun away, presumably off to wreak further havoc. Mythera was admittedly pleased with herself – it would be good for the elves to the see the dwarves enjoying the pleasures of Rivendell, and it would be good for the dwarves to see the elves relax. ' _Perhaps tonight_ ,' she mused, ' _I will sing for them as I promised_.'

As the day slipped away and evening began to creep in around the edges of the small safe haven, Mythera gazed out across the valley from her vantage point on a high balcony. Feldar was sitting in the room behind her, sorting out his things to find his lute. When she had decided early that day she was finally going to sing for the elves, she had been very pleased to find out about this talent of his, and he had agreed – she may have coerced him – to play for her tonight. Not only that, but the elves were so eager after finding out, that tonight the festivities were actually going to be held in the dining hall rather than the Hall of Fire – a rare occurrence. The excitement of the elves had begun to spread to the Men as they grew curious. She'd already gotten the dwarves to agree, so she'd have all of Rivendell watching her. Such things hardly concerned her, she was a performer after all.

The gypsy man glanced over at his companion. "Are ya goin' to dress in your usual fashion, milady?" He had continued to address her such in private, though he made no such comments in public. In fact, apparently the children she had spied him with earlier were the only folk he spoke with.

She turned around, walking back into the room, shaking her head. "Alas, no. Once more, the narrow-mindedness of Men stands in my way." She sighed, before going through her own things. "Though I have every intention of giving them a taste of a true gypsy." She winked at him with her large lopsided grin before shooing him out of the room. "Go down and get some dinner. I'll be there in just a moment."

Shutting the door, she changed back into the clothes she had originally worn during their travels here, though they had since been cleaned and any tears repaired. However, there were some differences. Her shirt was a vibrant red, and her waist scarf – larger and longer than the other – was purple, and tonight she adorned some jewelry she didn't while traveling. A pair of gold bangles around her wrist, and a golden anklet, with a pair of matching earrings. She wore a pair of thin slip shoes – similar to the elven style, but these had small cut outs in them, as well as thin pieces of brightly colored ribbon – mostly red – woven through the openings. For the first time since coming to Rivendell, she shook at her long wild curls, only binding them partially up. When they fell out later, it would just add to the overall effect. She checked herself in the looking glass – she looked more feminine than she had lately, but she still looked just masculine enough to hopefully slip under the men's radar – she did not need that sort of drama.

Grinning to herself she made her way to the dining hall, taking her usual seat near the head of the table. The room was hushed as soon as she entered, and she could feel eyes on her, which is exactly what she had planned for as she sent the lord a quick wink. Settling down, she disregarded the stares, and the room shortly livened back up again, though her ears caught that quite a few of the discussions were now about her. She even saw some Men and Dwarves debating out of the corner of her eye, widening her smile.

Arwen glanced over at the eccentric gypsy she had grown to know a little, though they were not close friends. "You are dressed for your performance I assume?" She asked, her voice soft and lilting.

Making eye contact with the lovely elf, she nodded, unable to help her smile. "Aye, milady." She made no attempts to hide her accent. "I hope I did no' startle you?"

The embodiment of a starlight night shook her head. "No, not at all my friend."

The conversation died there, but dinner seemed to flow relatively quickly. The elves were clearly eager to hear her song. Feldar made his way over to his instrument which had been set up previously, and moved over to stand by him. He glanced up at his lady. They had not picked a song before, so he played a few chords to a song, watching her reaction. She crinkled her nose and shook her head, so he tried again. They went through several songs in this way until suddenly her eyes lit up and she leaned towards him, whispering under her breath.

"You need not play this time." She told him, and he grew curious as to which song she had chosen to begin the evening – for he had no doubts they would be playing nearly all night.

She turned back towards her audience, clearing her throat with a smile – but it wasn't her usual bright smile, it was toned down, more gentle and soft. "My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind, and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind." Then she stepped away from me and this she did say: "It will not be long, love, till our wedding day." She stepped away from me and she moved thru' the fair, and fondly I watched her move here and move there. And she made her way homeward with one star awake, as swan in the evening moves over the lake. Last night, she came to me, she came softly in, so softly she came that her feet made no din, and she laid her hand on me and this she did say: "It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.""**

The room held quiet for a moment before it came back to life, full of smiles and she could see that the tension had practically melted away. Her elven friend that she had been speaking to over the past few days raised an eyebrow and grinned. "How unlike you!" She teased, laughing softly.

Taking it as a challenge, the young gypsy whipped out her fife and proceeded to play an eager tune, taking it from her lips only to sing, while her gypsy companion caught up on his lute, occasionally using it as a stand in percussion rather than a string instrument. She began to skip and dance about a small amount as she let the music sink its eager claws into her. Truly, the pair was quite the sight. And much like Feldar had predicted, they played for several hours intermittently – what breaks they took were filled by the elves singing and telling stories. Though one dwarf did stand up and rumble out some poetry – thoroughly shocking some of the elves, but all took the night lightly until the retired late in the night – or extremely early the next morning, it was hard to tell.  
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**Author's Note: So, I don't own anything except my characters! The rest goes to it's appropriate owners!**

**Please R &R!**

***Under a Violet Moon by Blackmore's Night**

****She moved through the fair by Peter Hollens (Or rather, this is just my favorite version)**


	6. Of Keeping the Peace (Or not)

"Life is a gift and a burden. We must use it wisely, but also as we see fit."

Of Keeping the Peace

It had now been a full week since Mythera and Feldar had arrived in Rivendell. October 18th was today's date; not that either gypsy gave much of a care over the date. As the week had gone on, a few more strange travelers had trickled into Rivendell; surprisingly mostly other elves from kingdoms further away.

The pair of gypsies had not made a repeat of their performance – yet. Many of the elves were eager, and the stories were being passed around to newcomers with excitement as she was asked again and again to raise her voice for them. It was not a rare occasion to catch her singing in the garden, and quite a few listened in, but it wasn't the same, they insisted. She had told them that she would do it soon – though that soon might come a little quicker than she thought it was. She had resumed wearing more elvish clothing once more – sleek tunics and leggings with soft shoes. Every now and then she would be found working on her sword work or her archery, but if she was to be found in the training grounds she was usually simply just exercising. It was to ensure that none of her well maintained muscle faded away now that she was no longer helping to work on the ship, or dancing to the point of exhaustion. Her lithe muscles was her great advantage to most of the women in the world.

"Pardon me, my lady?" A smooth voice asked.

Imagine her surprised at having her training interrupted – she was currently balancing on one leg with the other tucked under her, her hands clasped above her head as she stretched out her body while also training her balance. She hummed and opened her eyes to look at the intruder. It was an elf – one of those from Mirkwood if she recalled correctly. "Can I help you?" She asked, not moving from her posture, her hazel eyes gazing at him lazily – half of the exercise was to relax her mind after all.

He inclined his head to her, smiling just barely as his blue eyes gazed at her with something equivalent to amusement. "I merely wished to make myself known to you, as we are now alone in company. I also wanted to meet the creature that has so thoroughly entranced my kin." He chuckled quietly, he was clearly quite the puffed up piece of elvish fluff.

She laughed softly, still not falling out of her position. Her balance was exceptional from years of dancing after all, and she trained hard to maintain it. "'Tis not my fault your people so value those of us who have given our hearts to our land and our people, who have no fear of sharing their hearts through music." She teased him lightly, shaking out her brunette curls as she placed both feet firmly on the ground, dropping her arms to her sides.

The elf took it all in stride, laughing with her as his hands absentmindedly stroked the carved wood of his bow. For the first time she noticed the hard calluses that lined his hands, and he seemed less distant than the other elves from Greenwood the Great. She liked him better already, and she could see the warrior in him. Not such a puffed up piece of fluff after all. "I must say that you make interesting company –"

Whether he had finished his statement, she didn't know, for they were then interrupted. "Legolas, my prince." This elf was no different than the others she had seen in Rivendell – nothing but a stitch of finery on him, and his face had the disdainful look of one who had lived in the elven cities all his life. She didn't like the look of him.

"Calanon." The elf greeted him with a frigid smile. They were clearly not close – an advisor she guessed.

She smiled stiffly as she watched them, moving on quiet feet away from them, not wishing to disturb such a reunion. Alas for the keen eyes of elves! "My lady, where are you going?"

Turning back to them with a light spin on her heel, she smiled as her the curls that had escaped her braid fluttered about her face. "I would not care to interrupt –"

The elf cut her off – she was growing to like him more and more, he was much more interesting than the others she had met from his home, he had spunk. "You are not intruding!" He protested, his blue eyes gleaming with inner fire as the man next to him scowled faintly.

The other elf glared at her like some piece of disruptive boil on the beauty of the elvish architecture around her. "And what would your name be, my lady?" He snarled frigidly, clearly wishing her gone from him.

She frowned, allowing her smile to drop as her eyes went cold. She gazed at him, with a defiant toss of her head some of her muscles flexing in irritation beneath her skin. "I would be Mythera Zara." She did not offer him anything beyond basic manners – she had a strong dislike of judgmental folk.

"My prince, let us leave this southerner to –" The stranger began, tone clipped and cold and clearly he had decided that she was less than scum.

The elven prince was having none of it. "She is here at Gandalf's behest with Lord Elrond's blessing, you should do well to treat our friend and guest with more respect." His blue eyes turned cold for a moment, glaring at his advisor. The other elf just sniffed and walked away with a glare thrown her way.

"I apologize for him." The prince looked at her with his curious blue eyes, seemingly less than pleased with what had transpired.

She shook her head, her smile slowly returning as she relaxed once more. "There is no need – some folk do not want my kind here, I understand that. We are but gypsies after all." She shrugged off the encounter easily, her smile quickly leaping up to her face once more. "You have received my name, but you've yet to introduce yourself." She said jovially, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

He quickly relaxed and chuckled softly, sweeping her an over exaggerated bow. "I am Prince Legolas of Greenwood the Great." He had clearly taken her joke in stride as he straightened to smile at her. "Now that we have been properly met, I will let you return to your activities, as I do need to practice."

She laughed and nodded, and he set himself up not far off with his bow and arrows. She watched with a sort of awe as he practiced – he was a very seasoned and precise archer, she could tell just by watching him. Deciding that she had exercised enough that day, she settled in leaning against a tree to watch him. There was something so… indescribable about watching a talented bowman practice. There was a fluidity of movement and strength that was just a wonder to watch. She found the same pleasure in watching talented swordsmen as well, but even that couldn't compare to the interest she held in watching bowmen – especially elves. Their natural grace suited the bow more than swordplay, or so she had always thought.

At last the gypsy woman turned on her heel and left him alone to practice as she made her way into one of the gardens she loved to frequent. Taking a deep breath, she let the scent of the green growth about her wash over her senses. She could never grow weary of this beautiful place, however, having been here for the length of time that she had, she could feel the slight pull on her senses. It was this sensation that often came to spur on a gypsies restless feet – staying in one place for too long brought on the wanderlust her people were known for. Perhaps it was no different than the affinity the dwarves had for the stone, or the elves for nature, but still it had a driving pull.

The brunette had more practice than most gypsies at ignoring the itchy sensation and casting it out of her mind – it was almost like a ghostly voice that echoed through her thoughts every now and again, whispering the wonders of the world if she would only chase after them on her deer-swift feet. She gazed about the garden, her eyes taking in the many shades of the flowers that bloomed there, some bobbing and nodding in the faint breeze, others climbing up walls and trellises to bloom on vines. She especially was fond of those that bloomed in the brighter more vibrant colors; the yellows, oranges, purples, and reds – their petals boldly stained and saturated in colors. Then again, that was simply a reflection of her own tastes – she was not partial to the fainter, more delicate colors of the elves, nor the more earthy tones of the dwarves. It was not uncommon for gypsies to dress in bold colors, often clashing, as they went about their lives. She did not know why – perhaps like their bright and merry nature, they sought reflecting colors.

Her mind continued along these tracks of thought – really just a sort of meandering wander to keep her thoughts busy – as she let her feet lead her where they would. She was dragged out of her reverie by loud shouting – clearly there was some kind of disturbance. The brunette did not hesitate to make her way to the source of the noise. Imagine her surprise – or lack thereof – to see that the elves and dwarves were in an argument. One of the dwarves she did not know was shouting at – oh this was rich! – the snobby elf (what was his name, Calanon?) from the other day. She had to bite back a smile and a snort. She couldn't exactly make out what the source of the bickering was, but no doubt it was something clearly unimportant.

What Mythera had not been expecting was to see Feldar there, a ferocious look on his face, his little elven children nearby, looking a little scared. Narrowing her eyes, she marched right up to the group. "What is the meaning of this?" She demanded cooly, her hands landing on her hips as she stood there, her posture straight. It was quite obvious that it would be in their best interests to answer immediately.

Calanon sneered at her, tossing his hair over his shoulder. "I am not obliged to answer to you." He spat.

The dwarf growled, glaring harder. "Don't mind him lass. I just stumbled upon him being a racist prick and refusin' to let yer friend here speak with the little ones." The dwarf rumbled.

A blink of her hazel eyes showed her momentary confusion, but then it was gone, replaced by flaming anger. She stalked towards the elf, ignoring the way he towered over her own slim frame. "You have no right to make such declarations." She snarled out, her fists clenched at her sides as she met his gaze. Despite the height difference, she somehow succeeded in looking down upon the hostile elf. "And I have no doubts that should –"

She had no chance to continue as the harsh sound of skin upon skin contact rang out through the courtyard, her head turning with the blow. Feldar refused to accept such treatment of his leader, lunging forward to check upon her condition. "Milady!" The dwarf too growled and stumped forward, clearly intent on doing something to the elf. Her voice stopped him. "Do nothing on my account." She said, straightening to turn her flaming hazel eyes on the elf once more, ignoring the slowly growing red mark on her cheek. Whatever she was going to say or do however she did not get the opportunity to enact.

"What is happening here?" A curious and concerned voice asked as the young elf prince walked into the area where the dispute had been happening, having heard about the issue through the lovely elf maiden that was Elrond's daughter. Arwen had heard the debate and on her way to find her father had seen the prince and sent him their way to hopefully stop things before they got to out of hand while she fetched her father. His sharp blue eyes landed on her swelling cheek and they narrowed in anger. "Who would dare strike a lady?" He hissed through a clenched jaw, marching to her side.

Calanon immediately turned his gaze to his prince. "My prince." He greeted him calmly, respectfully.

Legolas was not fooled – his flicked across the scene and he quickly put the pieces together by the way the dwarf and the other gypsy were at her side. "Calanon, explain yourself." He had hoped that there would be no conflicts, but it seemed that his fellow elf's hate of other races overruled his judgement.

"There is nothing to explain, my lord. I was simply defending the children from the unwanted advances of these heathens." He said calmly, sounding perfectly reasonable.

The dwarf barked out in disbelief. "That is no' what I saw! He was just tellin' them a story and you attacked 'em!"

Forcing air out through his mouth, the elven prince sighed and shook his head, disappointed. "They are just as much the guests of Lord Elrond as we are. She is still a lady, despite how you might feel, Calanon. I will wait and see what the lord of the house decides to be your punishment – for I do not doubt that these actions will secure his displeasure." His clear blue eyes narrowed on his fellow, daring him to challenge his words.

The other elf paled considerably.

Mythera however, had different plans. "This is not necessary. I have no doubt we were all summoned here to work out some conflict. I see no reason why this should be brought any further than it has already." She shook off her worried companions and stepped forward, her chin still lifted proudly despite her swollen cheek. "No matter how much you hate my folk, we are a part of this world. We have a right to speak for its fate! Not only that, but we are going to take part in helping to forge that fate! You are but a selfish fool if you can't look past your own damn skin to see what the world has to offer!" She said, her tone fierce and the fire and steel that she was forged of were obvious for them all to see.

The children were awed by her, and indeed even so in awe were the adults. It was not often you saw someone make such a stand in such a calm manner, yet still so fiery. She was not done yet however. "Now." She relaxed, her eyes becoming far gentler, but remaining steely. "I want you to apologize to the children and Feldar and this good dwarf for the distress you have put them through. As far as I am concerned, this is what needs to be remedied."

 


	7. Of Bad Manners and Ettiquete

"Mine is a kingdom of the heart and soul, defended by the security of honest love and friendship and the warmth of memories." – RA Salvatore

Of Bad Manners and Etiquette

Her gaze remained stead, unflinching. Before Calanon's answer could ring out, Arwen came hustling into the area, her father walking more sedately behind her, but still hurried. Lord Elrond's gaze fell upon her injured cheek, and his eyes narrowed. His personal acquaintance with the young gypsy stoked his anger at seeing her so disrespected. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded calmly in quiet anger.

Calanon immediately bowed hurriedly to their host. "A mere misunderstanding, my lord." He said, appropriately demure.

It was the young elven prince who stepped away from the other Mirkwood elf. "I disagree. You have raised your hands against a lady, and deeply insulted her people by your insinuations." His gaze was all blue fire now, and Mythera could see why his people loved him so.

The dwarf snorted. "Aye." He muttered under his breath. "Never thought I'd agree with an elf." He said lowly, though some of those present fought back a chuckle at this.

As for the young gypsy woman, she shared a look with the elven lord – she would not see the elf punished and risk the escalated tensions, but at the same time, it was perfectly just for him to be punished as Elrond saw fit. Slowly, he turned to gaze out across the gardens, clearly deep in thought. The silence hung heavy over them – what happened now could well impact the coming meeting and negotiations.

"I will not stand violence between my guests. Consider this a warning, and should I hear of further problems, there will be consequences." He decided, stating in his noble voice, his eyes focused on the gypsy girl. While he wanted to be more proactive – his friendship with her demanded such – he knew also that the Mirkwood elves would be deeply insulted if he should choose to side with the outsider.

Calanon relaxed, relieved at the evasion of punishment, while the blonde prince frowned, clearly wishing that there was more to be said. The dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes – in his homeland, such an offense would be punished severely. Lord Elrond took his leave then, walking away calmly; he had important matters to attend to. Upon closer inspection, the young woman recognized the red-bearded dwarf; he was her old friend's son.

"A pleasure that we meet again, Master Dwarf." She greeted him, watching as Feldar and the children vanished into the maze. Surely he would have some more wild tales to tell them.

The dwarf nodded his head, frowning at her nonetheless. "Aye, but not pleasurable circumstances." He muttered, shaking his head at the elf's foolishness and the injury it had caused. "Still, it seems ya live up to my father's tales, lassie."

A smile split her lips, and she threw back her head and laughed merrily. "Well! Happy am I not to have made a liar out of my dear friend!" She snorted softly, turning on a light step and sashaying away, her steps light and dancing as she leapt up onto a convenient railing, spinning to face the dwarf once more, before fleeing along the railing and vanishing into the gardens, leaving the dwarf to chuckle over her strangeness.

Approximately two days later, a strange awareness stirred itself in her mind. Standing on a balcony, she turned her gaze towards the gates of Rivendell and saw a strange sight. Lord Glorfindel racing into the city with a strange young man-child astride his horse, and behind him one of the Rangers, and 3 more man-children. She recalled then Bilbo Baggins, and knew that the small men were hobbits, even as she leapt over the railing off the balcony. She landed on her agile feet and ran to Glorfindel, her hands seizing his horse's burden and easing the young hobbit from his seat as the elf leapt to the ground beside her.

"Where is Lord Elrond?!" The elf demanded urgently, taking the dark curly haired youth from her and into his own arms – for the brief period she had held him, he had felt incredibly cold.

"I will find him!" She said, spinning on her heel. "We'll meet you at the infirmary!" She cried out before she dashed away, her gait that of a young deer, long and leaping. She bounded across the familiar paths until she threw open the door of the Lord's office, just lightly out of breath. "Quickly! Glorfindel has brought a hobbit in need of treatment!"

Without question, Elrond raced with her to the infirmary, though he no doubt looked far more dignified than she. Immediately, herself and the other hobbits were banished from the room as the two elves got to work. Frowning, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath quietly. The other little folk looked incredibly lost. Blinking, she saw an opportunity and she took it. "No doubt they will be in there for a bit of time. Here, let me take you to where you can rest, or where some food can be found – you all look weary, and in need of good food and sleep. Waiting out here for your friend will not do any good save worry you." She spoke, for she knew Rivendell well.

The largest of the bunch frowned at her. "I won't leave Mr. Frodo." He said determinedly, clearly set in his ways.

The other two – who looked astonishingly alike – glanced at one another, clearly thinking about her offer. "Well…" Began one of them. "We wouldn't mind some food. Not that we're not worried about cousin Frodo, of course. Only, he will be upset if he finds out that we didn't take care of ourselves while he was healing."

The other chimed in. "So, would you mind leading us to some food? We'll bring some back for you, Sam."

The larger one, Sam, nodded his head. "Oh alright then."

Mythera smiled at them, hoping to offer them some comfort as she lead them towards the dining hall, where there would be food to be had for the two young hobbits. She wondered if her friend Bilbo knew they were here – or was even aware that they were coming.

 


	8. Of Poorly Behaved Councils

"Are you coming to the tree, where a dead man called out for his love to flee? Strange things have happened here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree" –The Hanging Tree by James Newton Howard & Jennifer Lawrence

Of Poorly Behaved Councils

She led the young hobbits, watching as they set upon plates of food like a pack of starving wolves. She smiled softly as she watched them; they almost reminded her of her younger brother. As he had grown into his maturity, he had started eating ravenously. It was hard to remember that he was thirteen now, despite being six years her junior. Her eyes gazed absentmindedly before her as her thoughts wandered along the paths of memory, dredging up the recollections of her life amongst her kin and abroad. She was dragged from her reverie as one of the young hobbits tugged on her sleeve. "Hm?"

He grinned at her. "We were wondering if you could take us back to Sam?" True to their promise, they were bringing their friend food.

She smiled and nodded her head. "Indeed, it would be my pleasure." She got up, guiding them down the sculpted halls to where the other hobbit was still standing guard outside the injured one's room.

She left them then, walking away quietly to leave them to their own devices. She found herself humming under her breath as she paused at an open hallway, turning her gaze far to the east, letting out a sigh as she thought of her homeland. She had begun to miss her family, and her home. But still, her wanderlust called to her. She shook her head, smiling wryly to herself. She suffered the curse of her people beyond the norm; she was far more traveled than even the eldest of their tribe, and still she craved more.

As the dwarves were bound to love fiercely the products born of the work, and gold most of all, at times to the point of madness, so too, were her people bound by a need to wander. However, most, if not all, grew out of the phase after usually a journey or two. Their feet would itch, so that they may go out and experience the world for themselves, and they would then be hit with unbearably homesickness once their wanderlust was sated, and return to the land that they called home. Her own phase had yet to end, which was even more worrisome, as her brother's was like to start in a few years, and her people needed to be secure in the line of succession.

She knew it worried her father, and the elders, and the council as well. As much as she hated the politics, it was inevitable; it was her position, her duty, to remain with her people and rule them. And yet, though her father was growing older, as was she, despite her many journeys, still her wanderlust had not been sated. Some blamed the blood of her mother that ran so strongly in her. She leaned against the railing, gazing out into a garden as she let out a long and low sigh. Perhaps the fact that she was thinking so much about it was a good thing; perhaps it meant her days cursed to wander were numbered. That would please a great many of the lords, though perhaps not her father.

She rested her chin in her hand, lost deep enough in thought so as to be unawares of her surroundings. Thinking of her homeland, the large island that provided them with all it could; with its own mountains, plains, and forests. Inevitably, her mind was drawn to the legends that all her people knew, and she recalled a wandering song she had once heard.

"Land of bear,

Land of eagle,

Land that gave us birth and blessing

Land that called us ever homeward

We will go home across the mountains…"*

She let out another sigh, gazing before her, but not really seeing the gorgeous scenery before her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, waiting to long for home. However, such an emotion escaped her. While she missed her family, she had no desire to return, her wanderlust still itching at her. So deep was she in her thoughts, it made sense when she startled slightly at an unfamiliar deep voice behind her.

"I see that the elves have truly welcomed all kinds here, though I do not think I have ever seen one such as you before."

She spun around on the balls of her feet easily, her eyes swiftly locking on the newcomer. He was a man, tall and broad – his accent marked him as a man of Gondor. She snorted softly and rolled her eyes with a lopsided grin. "Oh, indeed? I should not be surprised if that were so; my people like to keep to themselves." She answered easily, relaxing against the railing behind her once more, watching him warily.

He smiled slightly at her, though he too watched with wary curiosity. "I see. I have never heard such a song before." He stated, changing the topic, as if to amend for his earlier rudeness. "You have a lovely voice."

The young gypsy woman smiled wider, dipping her head in a graceful acknowledgement of the compliment. "Thank you." She eyed him once more before stepping away from the railing and making to leave. "It is a pleasure to meet you." She wasn't going to let all those lessons of manners and diplomacy that she had had drilled into her head for years go to waste.

The man bowed his head in return, and that was all she needed before she left, returning to her borrowed quarters. She sat down in a chair with a sigh, running a hand over her face. Her eyes gazed at the wall opposite to her, as she frowned slightly, before abruptly shaking herself. Why on earth was she moping in here, when she could be out there, under the sun? With a grin, she leapt up, her natural good spirit chasing her dark thoughts away. Shaking off her tiredness and deep thoughts, she left the room, finding herself wandering out into an open garden. She smiled as she jumped up to walk along the border wall along a garden path.

She felt the earth thrum for a moment, and found it lifting her spirits further, feeling the sudden need to simply move. She burst into a bounding run, leaping over gaps where other paths branched off from the one that her wall followed. A wide grin spread itself across her youthful face. Her heart beat away in her chest; she was young and alive, and free as the wild winds. What did it matter, that her wanderlust still plagued her? For she loved her life and her family all the same. A few times, her wild dash was broken by exuberant spins and leaps, her head tossed back in laughter. All the words that the people who disapproved of her being her father's heir rang in her ears, and she knew them all to be true, and cared not. _Wild. Reckless. A creature of the wilds. Unsuited to a quiet life. Unrespectable. Strange._

Her wild run only came to a halt when another voice joined her in her laughter, and she stopped, breathlessly, and looked about her, seeking the owner. Her eyes met a pair of flaming blue, and a wide smile split her features. The young elven prince had encountered her once more. "It is nice to see that some still can be joyful in these dark times. Indeed, you may have very well bested the young hobbits I had just met."

She took a deep breath, stepping off the wall. Her normally wild hair had slipped from its binding and was now windblown, and even more disorderly than usual. She made no attempts to smooth it back however. "I see nothing wrong with that." She gave him a teasing grin.

Legolas smiled back, dipping his chin to her in acknowledgement. "Well, now that your wild run is over, perhaps you would grant me your company on my way to seek a friend?" He said, gesturing to the path that lay beneath his feet.

"It would be my pleasure." She found the elf nice enough, that much was certain. She fell into step alongside him, her hands swinging at her sides in time with her loose gait. She hummed softly under her breath, content to otherwise walk in quiet.

The elf seemed content with the quiet also as they moved side by side through the winding garden path, seeking whomever it was that they were seeking. She noted absentmindedly that they seemed to be heading towards the training ground where she had first encountered the elf. It was then that the elf broke the silence. "Are you attending the council as well? I have only seen one other of your kinsfolk here."

She peered over at him, her hazel eyes glittering with a hidden emotion as she nodded her head. "Yes. We were sent as representatives of our folk, mostly due to my previous association with the Grey Grandfather." She explained, waving a hand in a nonchalant dismissive gesture.

As they moved into the open area of the practice field, she saw an oddly familiar face. With puzzlement, she tried to place the vague recognition. It took her a moment to realize it was the Ranger that had been with the hobbits that she had escorted previously. The blonde man next to her did not hesitate to call out to his friend. "Aragorn!"

She watched as he went to the rugged dark haired man, and the two greeted one another with a degree of friendliness that made her smile. There was hope for them all still, if such bonds were forged between individuals and folk. She lingered, though she knew not why – it was not as if she had any right to ask to make acquaintance of the Ranger. The brunette gypsy settled for watching the pair interact, amused that one seemed dark and the other light; in both nature and coloration – at least in the hair and eyes; both were fair-skinned, especially compared to her own bronze sheen. However, it seemed that the observant grey eyes of the man of the North had not missed her, and he had made some remark to his elven friend, for then he called out to her. "My lady! Please come and meet a friend of mine!"

Mythera smiled and moved towards them gracefully, bouncing on the balls of her feet lightly with an odd excitement as she made her way towards the grim-faced Ranger. "As you wish. My name is Mythera. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She used her best manners, before getting distracted by her curiosity. "Are you not the Ranger who came with the halflings?"

He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her statement and her query. "Indeed, that would be myself. Tell me, my lady, why one of your folk is here in Rivendell? Did Gandalf send for you?" He knew the wizard and some little amount about the gypsy folk. Enough to know that the fact that they sent this young woman meant that she was not someone to be overlooked or taken lightly.

She grinned at him, hoping to assist the good natured elf in counteracting his seeming dour nature with cheerfulness. "Yes, he sent my father a letter some time ago. I am here for the council, to see what I can do for the people so that we may all live to see a better day dawn." She said, laying out her purpose clearly – she had no need nor love for deceit. In fact, if you wished to curry her disfavor, that was the shortest way to go about it. Gypsies were a simple folk – an honest folk – and as such most could tell when they were being lied to with an almost uncanny gift. This also meant that they themselves were poor liars and bargainers, which naturally had its downsides, such as when you wanted to be discrete or secretive.

The man looked thoughtful as he ran his eyes over her a second time, in an appraising way, as if simply by looking at her he could make out her faults. It was an interesting sensation, but she did not flinch away from his gaze – in fact, she blatantly refused to, for that would be a weakness, in and of itself. "Hm. Such is all of our hopes." He said slowly, before turning back to the elf, who had been watching their exchange with an air of mild curiosity.

While the two males conversed once more, she put herself into observing her surroundings yet again, wandering away from them towards something that had attracted her attention. While she was not above eavesdropping, she wasn't going to listen in on their conversation – at least not this time. They would no doubt be careful with their words with her presence, and as such she wouldn't learn anything anyways. However, she never ended up returning to them – her feet carried her off and away into the depths of the gardens.

She was not seen again until the next day – though really it was more that she had not seen any of them. The council was finally gathering, each set of representatives – for of men there were many – seated together. Her current seat beside Feldar set the two of them between the elves from Mirkwood and the dwarves of Erebor. It was an interesting seating arrangement, at the very least, putting the two most feuding groups closest together. Her eyes skimmed the rest; only one of the halflings was present – the pale one she had rushed to Elrond – as well as the small group of dwarves she had encountered previously, the Ranger was the only one of his kind present, a group of men from the south, Gandalf, the elves of Mirkwood, as well as Lord Glorfindel and another elf she was assuming was from Rivendell, and then Lord Elrond himself. It was strange that such a small gathering would be determining the fate of them all. She would have thought that for such a decision there would have been more – but at the same time, this was all supposed to be very covert and not attract the shadow's attention.

She tapped on her lower lip in thought as Lord Elrond began to speak. She had changed back into her gypsy clothes, as if only to confirm her nature to all those present. Feldar had as well, not that he had ever really worn any of the clothes the elves had lent him. She wasn't paying too much attention until a particular line caught her attention.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." The elven lord commanded, and the little pale hobbit stood before them all, setting the One Ring on a pedestal in the center of the circle of chairs, looking vaguely pained. A murmur swept through those gathered.

The southerner she had encountered before began to speak. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this ring?" She had to restrain herself from giving him a tongue lashing. Even she knew that it was not so; however, she had no need to speak out, for others did.

The dour Ranger was amongst them. "You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

"What would a Ranger know of this matter?" He snapped back, his face sour.

Then the elven prince who had sought her company in past days leapt in loyal defense of his friend. "This is no mere Ranger! This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Heir to the throne of Gondor!"

Aragorn sighed and gestured for the elf to resume his seat, while the Gondorian looked at him with renewed ire. "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir? Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king…"

"Aragorn is right, we cannot use it." Gandalf intervened as the southerner returned to his seat. Lord Elrond also picked up on the opportunity.

"It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast into the fiery chasm from which it came. One of you must do this."

Mythera had not known about this before hand, and she raised a delicate eyebrow. They were essentially asking for a sacrifice. She met the wizard's gaze from across the circle, and he sighed, but did not deny her conclusion. In her thoughts, she had been aware of voices speaking, but not their exact words – and suddenly around her, the Council burst into yelling argument, with emphatic gestures as people tried to shout down their opponents. So much for solving the issue peaceably and without incident. The southerner had returned to his ridiculous idea of using the Ring, the dwarves and elves were going at it hammer and tongs, and Gandalf also joined the fray. Even Feldar, brave, loyal, quiet Feldar, had joined the fight, siding with Gandalf, but mostly it seemed that he and the elf Calanon were engaged in a vigorous debate. Only herself, the Ranger, Lord Elrond, and the hobbit remained seated.

The only reason she had not yet leapt into the argument whole heartedly is that while she was feeling irate and frustrated, she had no real reason to feel so; as a creature who stayed deeply in touch with her emotions, she cautioned herself now. It was not natural for her to feel this deep seated, flaring anger, for no cause. Her eyes inevitable landed on the Ring, and suddenly she had her answer as the barest fleeting hissing whisper brushed her ears. So this was its doing. Before she could speak, another, smaller voice stopped her.

"I will take it…"

Still the arguments continued, though Gandalf paused.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor!" The little hobbit was standing now, approaching all the big folk who stood before him. Gandalf alone looked pained – the rest seemed merely surprised at this development.

**So! I hope you all enjoyed this installment of this story! Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up!  
**

*Song of Exile from King Arthur as performed by Karliene ( watch?v=UQQuNbhe5hI)

 

 


	9. Of Secret Missions and Gypsy Mischief

"Courage. In any language, the word has a special ring to it, as much, I suspect, from the reverent way in which it is spoken as from the actual sounds of the letters. Courage." – RA Salvatore

"Courage is found in unlikely places." – JRR Tolkien

Of Secret Missions and Gypsy Mischief

"I will take the Ring to Mordor!" The little hobbit was standing now, approaching all the big folk who stood before him. Gandalf alone looked pained – the rest seemed merely surprised at this development.

"Though…I do not know the way." The hobbit confessed.

Mythera gazed at this scene with something resembling awe – she had not spoken to this hobbit, for he had been under Elrond's care, but he seemed to be far stronger than he seemed. She gazed at him quietly, for he in the end, reminded her of a different hobbit.

Gandalf moved forward, setting his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear."

She blinked at the familiar name – giving the young hobbit a shrewd look. So he was related to Bilbo after all. How interesting.

The Ranger came and knelt before him as well. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He moved to stand beside the hobbit. "You have my sword."

The elf Legolas had been standing, watching, and moved suddenly, striding over despite some protest from his kin. "And you have my bow."

Gimli, as if to spite this, never to be outdone by an elf, went over as well. "And my axe!" The elf looked a touch disdainfully upon him, causing her to fight down a soft chuckle.

The Gondorian approached them, gazing at Frodo intently. "You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done." He took his place amongst the gathering group.

Feldar tapped on her arm lightly, and questioned her softly. "What shall we do?"

She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, turning her gaze to the collected group, before she could answer, another voice cried out.

"Here!" Another hobbit – the larger one, Sam – came running out of the bushes. "Mr. Frodo isn't going anywhere without me."

Elrond looked amused. "Nor indeed is it highly possible to separate you, even when he is invited to a secret council and you are not."

Suddenly, two more hobbits came running out to stand with their friends. "Oi! We're coming too!" Elrond whipped around, frowning now as he turned to glare at the newcomers. Gandalf also looked vaguely disapproving. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest. Thing." The other one added eloquently.

The first one muttered back "Well, that rules you out, Pip."

She tried not to laugh at the young hobbits; she did not wish to discredit them and their bravery.

Elrond gazed over them and spoke. "Nine companions….So be it, you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

The second hobbit smiled and nodded. "Great. Where are we going?" He was given looks of disbelief from all sides.

Gandalf stepped away from their little group and walked towards her. "And you, my dear? I apologize if my letter ran late – in fact, I do not believe I have seen you about Imladris since I arrived." He smiled at her, a kindly, fatherly smile.

She inclined her head, before returning the smile. "No, we have been for a fortnight now; your letter was well-timed, though the Elders were not pleased with my decision." She explained, setting her hands on her hips, relaxed.

Feldar snorted. "I think displeased is an understatement." He muttered, dodging the fist thrown playfully towards his head. "Just based on the shouting, leastaways."

She rolled her eyes as she decided to ignore the man, turning her attention back to Gandalf, her fist uncurling as her arm fell back to her side. "Still, here I am, as always."

"What shall you do then, my dear?" The wizard asked, concerned. While she was powerful in many ways, if the Elders were against her, then they stood little chance of getting the gypsies aid as a people. Many of them would assist individually, but more would be better.

The brunette just grinned, making some of the men grumble about her lighthearted attitude in the face of such serious matters. "Why, what I have always done; prove those stubborn old fogies wrong!" The dwarves present were struggling to control their snickers; they had always enjoyed the nature of their gypsy friend.

"As for myself, I shall do what I can. However, my heart tells me I have a different path to tread than you, Grey Grandfather. But I also hear in the wind that our paths will cross again before too long." She said, glancing at Feldar. "And I shall send Feldar back with word of this to my folk, and hopefully they can be swayed."

The gypsy man nodded his head – he would never argue with his lady, though he feared for her safety should she be left to travel alone. "Then I shall go." He bowed, and left immediately to pack his things, intending to leave by the evening.

She sighed and shook her head at his seriousness. Gandalf chuckled quietly. "He is a bit devoted, isn't he, my lady?" He asked her teasingly, jostling her with his staff.

Mythera snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh don't you go starting that nonsense too!" She reprimanded him, dancing away from him slightly. "Just because I was a Queen does not mean we need all this bowing and scraping!" She said snappishly, wishing that they cease this frilly nonsense.

This of course led to gasps and mutters, and she saw the Ranger's and the elf's eyebrows shoot straight up, while the dwarves snickered once again, those who were her friends knew her well, and knew this. It also allowed them to preen that they knew something the elves didn't.

"Was?" One of the hobbits piped up, moving closer to her. "What happened that didn't make you a queen anymore?"

She sighed and pinched her nose in annoyance. Her and her big mouth. Why couldn't she just let it go? "Because for us, being Queen or King is not a matter of a right of birth – it is essentially an elected position, and reserved for only in times of dire need. Only a Queen or King can unite the clans, given that some are predisposed to dislike others. They are the only person above the Council of Elders in ranking." She explained, bored by it all. "Just a bunch of political nonsense, really." She said, though that did little to shake the hobbits curiosity.

This time it was the pale dark haired Frodo who spoke. "What happened that they made you queen?" He inquired, curious.

The brunette wanted little more than to flee, for while her people boasted of her Queenship, it irritated her at the time, and it still did. The only thing that was equivalently annoying was her position as heir to her father. Thankfully, Gandalf rescued her from having to answer that question. "That is a story for another day. Or perhaps, for later this evening in the Hall of Fire."

The hobbits mumbled and pouted, but dispersed from her. She sighed in relief, her entire figure sagging slightly before springing back up to its usual stance. "I'm going to take my leave now." She said, darting off before the wizard could stop her, vaulting off the balcony and disappearing into the surrounding gardens.

The grey wizard sighed and shook his head as he chuckled, knowing that this was normal for the young woman. "Always running off." He said to himself as he let her go.

The Ranger had been conversing with the elf in a rapid stream of Elvish as they pondered of the odd young woman, whom the elf had already began calling friend. Gimli meanwhile was speaking with his father about the gypsy, trying to wrangle the details from the older dwarf, who would merely grin and tell him to ask the girl himself.

Mythera let out a sigh as she collapsed on the training field, pleased that she was sufficiently far away from her would be pursuers. She lay back in the soft grass and stared up at the sky, taking advantage of the quiet to allow herself some time to think. Most likely, by the time she made it back to her room, Feldar would be gone. That just left her. What was she going to do? As much as she would have liked to join them, something in her told her that it wasn't time yet, that there was something else she needed to do first. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and basked in the sun. The sound and vibration of footfalls through the soil are what drew her from her reverie, and she sat up, grass tangled in her long wild hair as she looked about for the source of the sound.

Her eyes surprisingly landed on the Ranger and her elven acquaintance, who seemed as startled to see her as she was to see them. And tagging along behind them was Gimli, who still seemed like he had caught scent of something foul. She resisted the urge to laugh at them as she sat there, propping herself up on her arms and leaning back against them. The dwarf moved towards her and stood before her. "So this is where ya off' n' disappeared to, lass?" He said, looking around and noticing the training grounds were empty of life.

She shrugged and nodded. It had not been intentional, but she ended up here.

Gimli gave her a shrewd gaze from under his bushy eyebrows. "I must say I'm surprised – based on what Gandalf and the others had told me of you, I would've thought you'd have jumped at the chance to come with us."

The gypsy woman sighed, knowing that the question was going to come up inevitably. "And they would not be wrong; I should very much like to do some more good in this world." Then she turned her sharp hazel gaze upon him; it was the same look she had given the Elders when they said she couldn't come. Her eyes held years of age upon them that were not reflected on her youthful face. "But something tells me that this journey is not mine to take. At least, not yet." She said, her eyes momentarily moving to the elf and man who had walked closer, no doubt curious.

Legolas offered her a smile, even as he moved to kneel beside her. "So then, this is why you didn't not volunteer?" He said, coming to a realization – his encounters with the woman thus far had shown her to be an open soul, and he wondered now if she could be trusted to keep this secret.

She nodded and hummed in agreement. "There is something else that must be done first. What that is, I cannot tell." She confessed, her eyes becoming youthful and lively once more.

Aragorn watched this all quietly, wondering about the odd woman. "I know a little of your people thanks to Gandalf, but I must confess that otherwise I am wholly uninformed. Tell me, will they not help us?"

Mythera sighed again, pulling in her legs and shifting to sit crosslegged. "I think that they will. But not in the ways that you would expect. I would suspect a few boats to help the southerners with the corsairs, and perhaps a net of messengers, but that is merely what we would officially do as a people. As for what individual clans and people will do, that is more guesswork. My clan, no doubt, will rush quite happily into the fray on the behalf of Gandalf and the free peoples."

The man nodded, accepting that this was all he would get from her, not realizing just how open she was due to the display earlier. "I see."

The elven prince stood, and unslung his bow from his back. "Well, I shall do what has brought me here in the first place, so if you will excuse me, my lady."

She inclined her head as she herself stood. "I also have some business to attend to." She said, leaving the clearing and heading back into the main part of the city.

Mythera returned to her room and then detoured to the room beside, entering to find Feldar just finishing his packing.

"Milady." He greeted her, not turning to look at her.

"Feldar, I think you should perhaps wait until morning; orcs roam the woods at night, and you should get as far from here as possible on the first day." She said, voicing the concerns that had been in the back of her mind.

He hummed in thought as he tied off his bag, turning to face her with a thoughtful expression. "If that is what you wish, then that is what I shall do." He agreed.

She smiled in relief as she nodded her head, stepping out of the room, turning to glance back at him. "Come and tell a story tonight; the little ones wish to hear of our people." She told him, knowing he would come at her behest even as she left, heading towards the dining hall.

She had not eaten since breakfast this morning, so was feeling a bit hungry. The woman had barely stepped foot into the room before she heard the hobbits calling to her. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, she went to them. "Good afternoon, little ones." She said as she took a seat beside one of them.

"I'm afraid we haven't met." Young Frodo Baggins said, looking at her with his bright blue eyes. "I'm Frodo Baggins, and you are?"

She inclined her head towards him. "Mythera, at your service." She greeted him cordially, amused by the spark of recognition in his eyes.

"You're the gypsy from Uncle Bilbo's stories." He said, hushed excitement in his voice as he looked at her with a sparkle in his eyes. "But you're still so young!" He exclaimed in realization. "That was over sixty years ago, but you don't look at day over twenty!"

She threw back her head and laughed heartily, amused as always by outsiders being stunned, though she quieted as she turned to look at him wide eyed. "That was over sixty years ago?" She mused, tapping a finger to her lower lip in thought. "I thought perhaps only a two years had passed." She confessed, her memory telling her that it was not so long ago. "I was seventeen then, and I am nineteen now."

He blinked owlishly, clearly confused. "How could you possibly only be two years older? How could you think it was only two years ago, when it was practically seven decades ago?"

Before she could answer, Gandalf spoke for her, having walked in and heard the young hobbits exclamation. "Gypsy folk are well known for their poor sense of time." He said, sitting down across from them, and all the hobbits – and surrounding interested folk, looked ready to listen. She merely rolled her eyes and set her palm in her chin.

"You see, they live on an island, far out to the northwest. Very few outsiders have ever been there, though the gypsies do come here, every now and again. Their love of wandering is what has earned them their name, of course. However, this island is ancient, and old magicks forgotten even to the wizards remain there, locked in its stones, and in its people." He said, settling into his role of story teller.

The hobbits listened, their faces full of awe. Legolas and Aragorn, who had just came in from their practice, sensed the air of the room and kept quiet, listening. Some of the dwarves had heard the story before, but they listened all the same, for still it was a puzzlement to them.

"Time does not pass in the land of the gypsy folk the way it does here, in Arda. For them, time goes far slower; it is not a shock that a mere two years have passed in their perception of the world. Indeed, I suspect some of their elders may even be older than myself. However, it is not that they are immortal, like the elves. Time simply moves slower for them – as long as they remain at home. Upon coming here, they follow our time, and their bodies age as such. Most gypsies come here once, for a few months, and then return – for they are possessed of an incurable wanderlust, and a desire to explore. That is how I met a dear friend of mine; Mythera's father, Darzule. I have only seen him twice since, and both times I went to him. However, I have had many an adventure with my young gypsy friend here. Still, she is far older than you think! If I were to guess, I would say she truly borders on close to a hundred years old! But that is something I fear we will never know." He concluded, leaning back in his chair and grinning as he observed his attentive and awed audience.

She snorted softly as she stretched, drawing eyes to her. "I suppose it makes a pretty tale." She said, because for her, at times, it was sad – it meant that dear friends passed away while she was not there, and that in some sense, she would be on her own forever.

Gandalf sighed at her and shook his head. "I would be better off telling them your tale, you mischievous girl!" He said, mock bellowing at her, which only succeeded in making her laugh, her eyes twinkling brightly in mirth.

"Oh aye! Tell them the story of the wild girl! Then they will hear something that is truly unbelievable!" She taunted as she leapt up and danced away on light feet.

The wizard snorted in amusement, his own eyes twinkling knowingly.

Gloin laughed from his seat down the table. "And I suppose you vanquished the dragon one handed to boot!" He roared, pounding the table.

She threw back her head and laughed. "No indeed! I had Master Baggins' help!"

This only made the two of them laugh harder, the dwarf nearly losing his seat at the table from his merriment.

Feldar entered the room then and shook his head at them, not even surprised. His beloved violin was in his hands; he had been on his way out to the garden to practice. He loved that instrument more than anything else. Mythera suddenly had a new idea, and that was never good. The man set it down for a moment to grab an apple, and that was when she put her plan into action. She snagged the violin and darted off, and he shouted in surprise.

"That's not funny! Give it back!" He lunged for her and she danced away again.

She put her chin in the rest and set the bow to the strings and began to play, leaping away from him all the while. She had not reached his level of skill, but she could still play.* The merry bouncing tune matched her actions and attitude, and she was grinning broadly.

The hobbits cheered her on, while some of the men laughed, as did the dwarves. Legolas watched with an amused smile, and none could deny that the mood had lifted.

**AN: Once again, I don't own anything except my characters! Hello all! Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter, and maybe R &R! All my motivation comes from reviews (and random brain childs)! Please R&R I love you guys! So, this is now officially caught up with the version on Fanfiction! I look forward to our newest installment, hopefully coming soon as long as Mythera cooperates!  
**

***The Drunken Sailor/The Bag Of Spuds (Hornpipe And Reel) by Liz Carroll ( watch?v=pDy0-8OnXYk)**

 


	10. Of Stories and Wonder

“Of yellow leaves and gossamer

In autumns that there were

With morning mist and silver sun

And wind upon my hair” – JRR Tolkien

Of Stories and Wonder

After that eventful meal, and Feldar reclaiming his violin from her, they all eventually meandered into the Hall of Fire. Even the dwarves were eager to hear the stories that would be told this evening. For tales of the gypsy folk were hard to come by, even if you knew one. Which, in and of itself was a rare event.

Mythera was relaxing against a wall with a soft smile as she gazed about, taking in the mixture of individuals that were steadily crowding the room. Men, Elves, and Dwarves, all getting along for the moment for the sake of story and song.

Several others stepped up and began to tell stories, whether they be of history or of myth, and poetry as well. One or two played instruments for the pleasure of those listening. At first, only Elves stepped forth, and then slowly, a trickle of Dwarves and Men, and then a pair of Hobbits – Merry and Pippin. She enjoyed the music and stories herself, before she blinked and looked down into two eager faces.

“Will you tell a story?” One pleaded, and the other nodded, both smiling up at her happily.

She sighed and shook her head, but her lips were smiling. “Ask Feldar, not I. I have no skill for telling stories.” She confessed, gesturing to the other gypsy.

The two young hobbits eagerly pounced upon him, and he chuckled as he nodded in agreement, stepping forward and up onto the small dais that others had stood upon. The older male adjusted his clothes and cleared his throat.

“I shall tell a story of my people. This story details how the gypsy people came to be, and how our ancestors guide us.”

 

_Once in ancient days long forgotten, there were seven great animals. Horse, Bear, Wolf, Lynx, Rabbit, Snake, and Hawk. Each was renowned for their wisdom and skill, and they often spoke to one another and occasionally to the humans that shared their lands. They taught their values to the humans of the tribes._

_Each animal had a tribe of peoples that they took under their wing, and so the tribes were named after their respective animals, and set to follow in the footsteps of their guiding spirit. Rabbit was renowned for its knowledge, Snake for its cunning, Bear for its strength, Horse for their speed and endurance, Lynx for their hunting skill, and Wolf for their wisdom and bonds._

_The humans of all the spirit animals lived together in one large village together, surrounded by mountains. However, not all of the animals agreed on the values of how people and animals should interact. Lynx and Snake especially disagreed on these matters. One day, a fight broke out between the animals, and so the great animals took their tribes their separate ways and they were one people no more. Some of the tribes even fled their homeland – Lynx and Wolf took their people across the sea, and ended up on a small island, the land that those of the modern gypsies call home. Each tribe spread out and claimed a territory for their own. They traded occasionally, but for the most part remained apart._

_One day, the tribes lost their great spirit animals – for the creatures had grown weary of their human counterparts, and left them. Also, though the humans remained strictly at odds, the animals recovered their friendship. The tribes struggled without the guidance of their animals, and so each tribe elected a leader and a council to lead them through these difficult times. Then the tribes reencountered one another. At first, they were confused, for they had forgotten their own history at this point. Then, they came together for a great festival – one that has happened every year since. However, large amounts of fighting between the clans erupted, and the leaders disagreed who was at fault and how to solve the issue. The leader of each clan came together, and so each leader, their heir, and two of their council became a part of the Council of Elders._

_This Council offered direction for interaction between the tribes, and this began the uneasy peace between tribes. However, when darkness attacked the lands, this peace fell apart. In the end, a man of the Wolf tribe rose to become a leader of a unified group of gypsies – his charisma and joy drew them to him, and so every leader of each tribe acknowledged him as King, conditionally – once the crisis was over, he would no longer have power, for the Council of Elders had grown used to their power. He agreed on one condition – that tribe leaders would be chosen based on worth rather than bloodline._

_Under his guidance, the darkness was vanquished, and peace returned to the gypsy people. However, the land had become unfit for us to live on, and fearing the return of the darkness, they all fled to the island that the Lynx and Wolf had discovered, and remained there._

 

 

The room was quiet, and everyone was listening intently as the tale came to its conclusion. “As of the Migration, we have had three Kings and two Queens to guide us in times of trouble. Lady Mythera has been one of these, and guided us through the disaster left behind by our previous King, who misled our people.”

The brunette woman sighed and shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. You’re making me sound important.” She snorted as she stepped away from the wall.

Many of the eyes in the room were glued to her now, and inevitably there was a cluster of curious Hobbits around her.

“We want to hear that story too!” Pippin demanded, while Merry nodded and Frodo looked up at her with large blue eyes.

She sighed, this time in frustration, irritated that her attempts to blow attention off of her failed, and in fact only brought more attention on herself. “Ask Feldar to tell it. It is not a particularly grand story at all – I just did the right thing. It could have easily been Feldar, or my father, or one of the other gypsies. It just happened to be me.” She said, waving them away with a light hearted smile.

The man snorted and shook his head, frowning at the girl. “That is only slightly true. Perhaps one of us could have done it, but it was your hour of triumph.” He insisted, frowning at her refusal to accept the honor for her deeds. “I wish you would not speak so; for it makes those of us proud of your feats ashamed.”

Her eyebrows rose incrementally in incredulity. “I make you feel ashamed? I shame you by refusing unnecessary titles and words that do not befit me?” Her chin rose defiantly as she straightened her spine. Despite her shortness in height, it seemed as if she towered over the taller man in a fashion much befitting that of a Queen – the Queen she claimed not to be. “I am not an idol nor other item worth attention or worship. I am a gypsy like every other – I simply gained a rare title.”

“You are the last of the line of Wolf, and heir to the line of Lynx. You have proven yourself through storm and fire an unwavering stronghold of our people’s faith. You have shown us the path and assisted us in prevailing over the darkness that would have claimed us otherwise. You deserve all honors.” Feldar looked down at her, but not down upon her. No, here she towered over him as her nobility practically irradiated from her slight form.

A shake of her wild curls and a toss of her head rejected this statement. By now several individuals in the room were rightly curious about the strange young woman in their company, and Gandalf was smiling into his beard. He knew in detail, of course, the events that happened there – but Mythera was a free spirit, and responsibility would not tie her down. Or at the very least, she feared it would, thus why she so eagerly shunted aside her people’s love for her. Though her love for her people ran deep, and she did not mind their respect, what she didn’t want was their expectations for the ‘hero’ of their folk.

Rather than retort to the other gypsy, she vanished, in a swirl of indignant color as she fled the room. Though it did not come off as such – she left calmly enough, and her face was still, holding no trace of the irritation bubbling under her skin.

Feldar sighed as she left, shaking his head as his shoulders sunk. “Impossible as always.”

To divert attention, Gandalf stepped forward with a tale to tell – one the dwarves joined in with eagerly. Bilbo stepped forward and spoke as well – for they retelling their adventures with the trolls. And so almost all were distracted away from events earlier. However, the attention of two individuals in particular was still on the door that the gypsy had just exited through. Only one however ventured out into the night to find her.

 

 

Once outside the Hall of Fire, she took a deep breath and ran, her body vaulting over railings and balconies in her way as she fled into the gardens that she had become so fond of. The moon was rising over the horizon and spilling soft silver beams across the carpet of grass, transforming the colorful world of daylight into the soothing world of night.

Here, color was muted, and sound seemed quieter, as she finally came to a stop beside a rose hedge. Taking deep breaths of the flower perfumed air, she closed her eyes as she allowed her racing heart to slow to calmness. When they opened again, for just a brief moment the moonlight glinted off of them and changed their color from hazel to pale gold, but with the next blink the color was gone.

Shaking her head once more, she looked around her surroundings. Her eyes landed on a fountain that was running water quietly from a small stream into a pool. Slow and light steps brought her to the edge of the pool, the water reflecting the gem spotted velvet of the night sky above, with the moon hanging low and nearly full.

Footsteps at the edge of hearing caught her attention, but she did not turn her head to seek the source of the sound. Eventually they stopped behind her, and she let out a breath in exasperation as she spun on the balls of her feet to investigate her follower. She blinked in surprise as her eyes met a steady grey gaze in a weathered face.

“My lady.” The Ranger bowed his head towards her calmly.

Mythera inclined her head in return with a slight upward quirk of her lips. “Ranger.”

He blinked, then gave her the smallest smile of amusement. She smiled back, wider this time. “Call me by my name and I shall call you by yours, my friend.” She said, raising an eyebrow at him.

The dark haired man nodded as he glanced around for a brief moment, as if looking for something. She watched but said nothing, her eyes flickering up to the stars.

At first, he had followed her on an impulse, a mere whim. As he left the crowded room however, he began to wonder. Her reluctance to accept her crown and nobility – did it mirror his own? Did she, in her own way, share his fears about rulership. He had admittedly had a tricky time tracking her – few traces were left on clean and solid floors – but he had been close behind her and so had managed to keep a flicker of color in sight, and he remembered her affection for green spaces he had seen so far. The silence between them did not weigh on him; no, rather it was light and relaxed. It was strange to stand in silence with someone who hardly knew him yet expected no conversation from him, allowing the Northerner instead to gather his thoughts.

His sharp grey eyes observed again the woman, though this time there was some knowledge of her, what he was able to glean from her was vague. Noticing his gaze, her eyes turned from the sky to meet his steadily, unflinching.

“You came to ask me something. What is it?” Clearly she was astute as he in reading people.

Aragorn inclined his head in the affirmative, taking one last moment to gather his thoughts. “Why do you reject your crown so vehemently?” He wondered, though really he had no right to expect an answer from her.

A soft laugh preluded his answer. “Why?” Her cheeks were crinkled in amusement from her smile, but her eyes were sad. “To be a figure of power is to hold responsibility. That is not something I can be held accountable for. With a little more time, I have no doubt that preference will go to my younger brother for becoming my father’s heir.”

The man paused and mulled over this information. “From what I understood, it is based on merit, not blood? Inheritance of leadership, I mean. And would it not go to him anyways, for being the eldest son?”

“We say that, but it does follow bloodlines to some extent – though I believe it has more to do with parenting skill than the blood itself. Also, we do not discriminate based on male or female. I am a more capable warrior than a quite a few men of any tribe, and as such I have earned my place. Though female leaders are rare, we currently have to tribe heads who are, those of Hawk and Horse.” She explained, gesturing lazily with her hands in graceful arcs.

“I see. But you still have not really answered my question…what do you mean, you cannot be held responsible?” The Ranger furrowed his brows – perhaps they were not as similar as he had originally thought.

She let out a deep sigh, and her shoulders slumped – she had hoped she had dodged the question, but apparently not. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze steadily. “My wanderlust renders me incapable of the responsibility of meeting their expectations. Unlike most gypsies, who, after their first journey, prefer not to venture too far from home, I have been on many and still I cannot rest. Ever in my heart stirs the desire to travel, see lands and things new and old, and simply to keep moving. I cannot meet the needs of my people when I cannot even bear to live among them for more than a year or two. That is why my brother will become my father’s heir – he will be there, leading them as a good leader ought.”

Aragorn listened to her and nodded his head slowly, understanding dawning on him. Their fears were not so different. “You fear you cannot lead your people as you should because you will not be there for them.”

“And I am the last of the Wolf – there is no one for me to lead.” She added, sighing as she sat cross legged on the ground. “Why do you ask me this?”

The Ranger looked away for a moment, before looking back down at her. “I am Isildur’s heir.” He said, letting out a low sigh as he turned away, questioning himself for coming out here after her.

Mythera furrowed her brows for a moment, giving him a piercing stare. Like she feared responsibility and failing her people…so too did he. “You fear you share in his weakness. You fear you are not the leader your people need. I will tell you this, Aragorn. Remember that fear, and I do not think you should fail. You seem to me someone of character, and I think that your people could well admire someone such as yourself.” She stood with a flourish, stretching slightly.

Admittedly unprepared for such straightforwardness, he looked at the gypsy woman and gave her a considering look. Seeming to pay him no mind, she turned and walked away, waving slightly over her shoulder before vanishing into the gardens. He remained standing there for a while, contemplating all that had been said, before he returned to the indoors.

**AN: Hello all! I hope you all enjoyed this newest installment of Curious Traveler! I really love this story so much! Please read and review! Hope you enjoy the gypsy info and backstory! Don’t worry, there’s more to come.**


	11. Of Journeys Beginning

 “Farewell is said by the living, in life, every day. It is said with love and friendship, with the affirmation that the memories are lasting if the flesh is not.” – Drizzt Do’Urden

Of Journeys Beginning

The next morning, Feldar was gone, and the Fellowship was making their preparations to leave as well. Though they would not leave for another two days, Rivendell was a flurry of activity to get supplies together to last them the first leg of their journey. Mythera was also preparing to take her leave of the fair Elven city. She found amusement in Gandalf’s attempts to educate the Hobbits; only the Ringbearer seemed truly interested in the lessons of the paths that the Fellowship would attempt to take.

The delegations of Elves, Dwarves, and Men, were also preparing to leave and return to their various homelands. The young gypsy didn’t know where yet she was heading, and as such her preparations were minimal. Perhaps she would linger longer in this safe haven before heading on her way; she had certainly enjoyed her stay here.

Humming to herself, she meandered along a path, her hand trailing along the leaves of the plants near her delicately. Her eyes widened as she came around a corner. Before her was a sight that, in her opinion, was unparalleled in all the gardens. She approached the rose bushes, her fingers brushing the tips of the petals of one bloom. Pale as stars and moon, like fresh parchment, her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at them.

Her hazel eyes become distant as she was lost in memory, gazing at the flowers with a look almost akin to that of a lost child seeking comfort. White roses had always held a special significance to her; they were her mother’s favorite flower, and her mother had always made her father swear whenever he saw one he would think of his loving wife. She had been only a child when her mother passed away – she had only a few memories of the woman, and most of those were simple things. A scent almost akin to vanilla, a soft voice, warmth, the color red, a pair of blue eyes, a promise, and a song. The memories of a five year old, by gypsy reckoning, of a woman who was always there for her child.

The unfortunate thing about the gardens was that they were, in fact, a relatively public place, so to speak. Privacy could be found there, but they were open to all comings and goings. Thus, when she was stumbled upon, gazing down at the pale flowers with a dreamy and distant look on her face, she should not have been surprised. To say that the ones who had stumbled upon her were startled, would be an understatement.

Gimli and his father were having a somewhat heated discussion as they rounded the bend, so they were not exactly observant in their surroundings. It was only with a cursory glance to ensure that they were no _Elves_ in the vicinity that lead to them noticing her, and they both paused in shock. Gloin had only seen the brunette looking this wistful once before, and Gimli had never seen such an expression on her at all during their short acquaintance. When one thought of Mythera, they thought of color and laughter, not longing looks gazing into the depths of a flower bush. The two dwarves were stumped to say the least.

“Lassie?” It was the older of the two that made the first motions of breaking the silence.

So deep were her thoughts that she did not stir; for she had not heard him, her mind focused on dredging up what few memories she possessed of her mother.

Gloin reached forward and set his hand on her arm. She leapt in surprise, her body shuddering at the sudden and unexpected contact as she was dragged from her thoughts. Wide eyes turned to look at them, startled. However, as quickly as it came, she calmed again. A smile was quickly dimpling her cheeks as she turned to greet them.

Curls bouncing, she bobbed her head to her old friend and his son. “I apologize – was I blocking the path?” She stepped off to the side.

Gimli gazed at her, but it was his father’s gaze that was shrewder, more probing. “Lass,” The older dwarf began, “are ya’ alright? Ya had…that…look on yer face.”

A tilt of her head and another, smaller smile. “Yes, Gloin, I am quite fine. I was just lost in thought I’m afraid.”

Gimli snorted at that, shaking his head with a look of amusement on his face. “Better not get anymore lost than that, or we’ll be finding you on our way to Mordor.”

The statement startled a laugh out of her, shaking her head. Gloin chuckled before gazing at her seriously. “Ye know lassie… ye could come back with us to the mountain.” He offered, wondering if she would. Some of the others had not made it here, and they would like to see you. “The rest of the Company would be glad for the visit.”

Mythera paused, humming as she mulled the thought over. Honestly, she had missed her dwarves, and it would be a relief to see them again. No doubt they missed her as well. Deciding that this sounded like a very good idea, she nodded her head. “I think I would like that very much, Master Dwarf.” She couldn’t help but tease him.

The older dwarf snorted and shook his head, shoving her playfully, to which she responded with a shove of her own. Gimli rolled his eyes at their behavior, and therefore received a push from both of the offended parties.

Deciding that it was time to take her leave, the young gypsy scampered off, leaving the two dwarrow to continue their discussion that her presence had interrupted.

Gloin watched her go and suppressed a sigh. He was glad she had agreed to come to the Lonely Mountain – they could really use her cheer.

Gimli looked at his father, curious. “What is the meaning of ‘that’ look? You spoke as if it had happened before.” He inquired.

A rumble proceeded the answer he sought. “I have only seen that particular look on her face once before.” The elder dwarf explained, still gazing the way that the troublesome girl disappeared.

“When?” He pushed for a real answer – his father was not normally this evasive in response to his questions, not since he came into his majority at eighty.

“The night that Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews died.” Gloin’s face was solemn, for despite all their disputes, she had been relatively close to all of them. It was hard not to like her, given her nature. He had no doubts that their deaths had been hard on her, and that no doubt had much to do with her abrupt disappearance once the mountain was reclaimed.

Gimli turned his gaze to follow his father’s, stunned into silence. He wondered then, just what thoughts had been troubling the gypsy woman.

Mythera found herself gazing out at the woods surrounding Rivendell as twilight began to fall. After her surprise meeting with the dwarves, she had beat a hasty retreat back to her own personal chambers, indulging herself in a rare moment of quiet and thought. She now stood on the balcony attached to a nearby hallway, watching as the sun set and the first stars appeared in the sky.

A soft voice behind her drew her from her reverie. “You have been unusually quiet today.” The wizard mused as he moved to stand beside her, setting his hands on the railing.

She smiled slightly, shrugging her shoulders. “There were white roses in the garden.” Was all she gave in the way of an explanation.

Gandalf let out a sigh, moving a hand to rest on her shoulder as a small frown appeared on his face. “She loved you. She would be incredibly proud of you if she could see you now.” He reassured her, gazing at her, taking in her expression.

The brunette woman turned to meet his gaze, her eyes oddly distant. “I know. I just wished I remembered more about her. All I have are fragments…. I was so young.”

He nodded, after all, he was the reason her parents had met. “Perhaps you would feel better if you distracted yourself. Come, I was just on my way to the Hall of Fire.” His hand moved from her shoulder to rest on top of her own hand gently.

She laughed softly as she turned towards him. “You really are such a grandfather, Gandalf. I suppose our name is apt for you indeed.” And though she smiled and jested to make light of it, there was a look in her eyes that told him more than her words did, and it brought an affectionate smile to the old man’s features.

“Perhaps my old age is getting to me.” He gestured for her to lead the way down the hallway as the pair walked to the Hall of Fire together.

When they arrived, she was startled and pleased to discover that many of those remaining in Rivendell were there. She spotted Aragorn near a beautiful elven woman, and Legolas with Callanon and the rest of the Mirkwood elves. The Hobbits, including Bilbo, were near Lord Elrond, and the Dwarves and Men had clustered together. Few noticed their entrance, though those that did greeted them with a smile or a nod.

Mythera, at first, was content to merely listen to those who performed, but as time wore on, a song tickled at the back of her mind. Giving in to her desires, she spoke softly to those others who desired to share their talents and arranged a spot for herself.

When her turn came, she stepped up fearlessly. Some of those in the room had yet to see one of her performances, and those that had paused in what they were doing with an expectant hush. She smiled, taking a deep breath, before parting her lips and beginning to sing.

“On a long road, miles to go  
It’s winding and cold and its covered with snow  
But I ask you what we all want to know  
Where are we going from here?  
  
Lines on my face, lines on my hands  
Lead to a future I don't understand  
Some things don't go as they're planned...  
Where are we going from here?  
  
Tracing the trails through the mirrors of time  
Spinning in circles with riddles in rhyme  
We lose our way, trying to find  
Searching to find our way home...  
Trying to find our way home...  
  
As the day dies, with tears in our eyes  
There's too few hellos and too many goodbyes  
Silence answers our cries...

Where are we going from here?  
  
We're all on this road, with miles to go  
Braving new pathways into the unknown  
But who do you ask, when no one really knows  
Where we are going from here.

 

Tracing the trails through the mirrors of time  
Spinning in circles with riddles in rhyme  
We lose our way, trying to find  
Searching to find our way home...  
Trying to find our way home...

Please help me find my way home”*

Once she was finished, she stepped down and watch as others took their turns, a soft smile on her face. While she was not lost in thought as she had been earlier, her energy was much calmer than it had been before, and she was strangely relaxed – peaceful. It was noticed, but not commented upon. However, she only listened to a few more acts before she excused herself, wandering back out into the gardens in search of the rose bush that started all this.

She was not particularly successful in her search, given that she did not recall exactly where the path that led to the roses was. Several hours of wandering in the night and she did eventually find them. With a soft sigh, she reached out and touched the petals. The silver moonlight had transformed them, made them pale and ghostly, mirroring the very promise that her mother had made with her father, which she herself had made with him.

" _Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think of me.”_

_A promise that Mythera had done her best to keep with her mother, and it was inevitable that she would. With so few things to cling to of the woman that had raised her until her death, those that she had were preserved fiercely. “I love you so…never let go… I will be your ghost of a rose…”** She murmured softly to herself, her eyes becoming unfocused as once again she brought forward the rare strands and fragments of memory she possessed of the woman. She had been told some stories, but they had been few and far between._

_They told her that she had her mother’s spirit, and her curls. But she didn’t have her mother’s eyes, or her complexion – those things she took after her father. She did not have her mother’s mannerisms either – she was not a polite and delicate beauty. Her father claimed her singing voice matched that of her mother’s, and that thought had always pleased her. She disliked how very little of her mother she had in her. As her mother’s only child, she felt like she should contribute more to her legacy._

_It was unfair to her brother of course; she loved him dearly, for all the trouble he caused her. He was six years her junior. She had found him when she was twelve and he was six. It was during the civil war – he had been orphaned by the untimely death of both his parents. She had taken him and his twin sister under her wing. It always stung her heart that only one of them survived. She tried her hardest, but she too was only a child at the time. Still, over the past seven years he had adjusted well to them, and she had never heard him speak of his deceased parents except when they had first met. He called her father ‘father’ and he called her sister – sometimes she wonders if he even remembers the time before that. She was only a year younger than him when she lost her mother, and her memories were few and far between of that era._

_Still, they were all happy, and they were a family. She had faith that her brother would be a good leader to their tribe and their people._

_Deciding she had spent enough time in thought, and that the night may have been getting a touch chill, she headed back to her own rooms. Settling in for the night, she gazed up at the ceiling until she fell asleep._

_Perhaps because of her train of thought before she slept, her dreams were filled with days of old, memories that were hers and hers alone._

_The war had been raging for almost three months now. Mythera had done was her father had asked her, and was searching through a burnt out village for survivors. Her surprise was great when she found many more than she was expecting. There were quite a few elderly, two pregnant women, a crippled middle aged man, and a small group of children who had hidden from their attackers. The young girl gestured to them, leading them out of the village and to her tribe’s encampment. It had taken her almost a full hour to gain the trust of the adults, but she had succeeded. The children immediately attached to her, an adoring pair of young twins in particular glued to her side. She basked in their hero worship with a big grin and confidence. When they walked into the camp, people immediately rushed them to offer their assistance and medical treatment, as well as food, to the new refugees. Victims of the war had been streaming in to the Lynx camp ever since her father announced that their tribe was welcoming to any and all who wished to seek shelter amongst them, no matter their tribe of origin. When Mythera had asked him why, as she always did, the curious child that she was, it was Yzni who answered. “War is terrible.” She just nodded wisely, even though she wasn’t sure she really understood. Now, two months after that declaration, she understood much better. It wasn’t just the soldiers and leaders who were impacted by the fighting – men, women, children, elderly, they were all impacted too, losing their homes and sometimes their lives to the war._

_The downsides to her father’s declaration were the fears of spies or others who may claim to be seeking shelter but were in fact going to attempt to bring war to the encampment in some form or another. And one night, those fears came true. Mythera snapped awake – she had been sleeping heavily after her taxing rescue mission – to the smell of smoke heavy in the air. Immediately she rushed out to investigate, and ran to the source. A few tents had caught flame. Trusting in the voice that she had always been complimented on, she took a deep breath and **screamed** with all of her might, hoping it was enough to wake surrounding residents. When she heard the sounds of others stirring, she rushed towards the flames, calling out and investigating. She found a small group of women and children, who had all escaped the grip of the fire, luckily. Amongst them were the twins that had grown so fond of her. _

_Her father came running, along with one of his closest friends. They looked over the situation grimly, and her father ordered her to do him another favor._

_“Mythera, take the women and children somewhere safe.”_

_She nodded and turned to them, gesturing to them to follow her as she led them towards a designated safe place if any evacuations were necessary. Unfortunately, their way was blocked. A group of men on horseback came thundering into the encampment, whooping and shouting. One of the women was injured. Realizng that the strangers were dangerous, Mythera encouraged the children to keep going._

_“Run! Stay with me!”_

_Only a few of them kept with her; the others scattered with fright. She took the three girls and two boys that followed her, and met up with a few of the elderly and women at the designated cave. She frowned as she looked at how few had come._

_“Stay here! I’ll try and get to the others!”_

_She rushed back to the camp, and screams flooded her ears. More tents were burning now, and everything was chaos. Pushing down her fear, she rushed in, grabbing children as she encountered them and pushing them towards the hill. When she could, she left them with other groups who were rushing towards the safe place. Ducking a falling pole, she turned a corner to a sight that made her stomach turn. The twins were cornered by two men, and they had the little girl by the hair, while the boy was trying to fend them off with a stick. Pulling out the dagger her father gave her to protect herself with, she swallowed and headed towards them._

_“Hey ugly! Why don’t you let them go and pick on someone your own size?!”_

_Of course, both men turned to leer at her, and their expressions sent shudders down her spine. It was predatory and awful._

_“Well well, look at this pretty. Now we have two new toys!” The one holding the little girl said, shaking the girl in emphasis as she whimpered in fear._

_Both children gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes, hoping for her to save them. Mythera held her knife the way her teacher had shown her, even as her hands trembled. “Let them go!”_

_With a snort, the man with his hands free other than a large spear approached her. “Put the knife down, girlie.”_

_She swallowed and shook her head. Even if she was scared, the children were her responsibility._

_“Don’t be stupid, girl. Put the knife down.” The first man ordered again._

_She inhaled and took a step towards them, determined._

_With a growl, the one with the spear lashed out at her. She dodged the blow, remembering more of her lessons. She wasn’t supposed to fight, but she couldn’t just leave them here…what would her mother and father say?_

_“Give them to me!” She demanded._

_The one with the little girl threw the smaller child aside, pulling out a sword and confronting her. “Now, now, that’s enough out of you.” He snarled._

_She looked at them, trying not to show how scared she was of the two large men. She looked at the children and felt braver. They needed her. She shook her head and lunged, darting under the spear and scoring a line on the second man’s arm. The two men began to attack her in earnest, and she ducked and dodged as best she could. Still, she was only a child with two years of tutelage under her belt in the area of combat._

_She slipped, and cried out as the dagger was knocked from her grip. She looked up at the two men from her position on the ground, knowing that now she should really be afraid. She looked at the two children._

_“Run!”_

_They obeyed her and darted for their freedom. The man with the sword turned on them with a snarl and lashed out, catching the little girl across the chest._

_Mythera swallowed, a spear tip resting on her throat. For the second time that night, she screamed. This time in hopes of being found by someone who could help her._

_Yzni and a warrior came sprinting around the corner, and the two men spun to face them. She ran to the little girl’s side, kneeling next to her._

_“Hey, are you okay?”_

_The little girl was gasping, and making strange noises. The little boy, her brother, was sticking close. She noticed blood on the girl’s lips. Once the two men had been chased off, Yzni knelt near her._

_“Mythera, what are you doing here?”_

_“I’m supposed to get all of the women and children to safety.” She said stubbornly. “Is she going to be okay?”_

_The older man looked down at the little girl and frowned, before sighing. “No, I’m afraid not, my child. Why don’t you take the other little one and go? Your father would want you to be safe. You’re still a child too.”_

_She frowned and pouted, but did not argue. “Fine. But why can’t I take them both?”_

_At that moment the little girl in her lap gave a little sigh, and stopped choking. Mythera frowned and looked down at her, noticing for the first time the large puddle of blood, as well as the blood that was now on her clothes and hands. “Oh…. She stopped breathing… is she…?”_

_Yzni sighed and nodded. “I thought to spare you. I am sorry. Now take the boy and go.”_

_She didn’t dare disobey the order, so nodded and grabbed the boy’s hand, leading him back to the safe place. She looked at him, and frowned. He was crying. She stopped and hugged him. “Don’t worry. You can be my brother now.” She smiled at him, nodding her head firmly. “Daddy doesn’t say it, but I think he gets sad when there’s just two of us.”_

_The little boy sniffled as he looked up at her._

_Mythera stirred, sunlight shining on her face as she blinked her eyes open. Cool, wet fabric was pressed against her cheek. When she rose and looked in the looking glass, tear tracks stood out against her dark skin, and all she could do was smile bitterly._

_**AN: Andddddd this is where I’m going to stop for this chapter. Thank you all very much for your reviews! They motivate me, and are responsible for why this chapter is up so quickly! Hope you all enjoyed the next step of the journey!** _

_*** Where are we going from here by Blackmores Night** _

_**** Based on the lyrics to Ghost of a Rose by Blackmores Night** _


	12. Of Tall Tales

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” –JRR Tolkien

Of Tall Tales

Pulling her hair back out of her face, she began to braid it back, her hands following patterns she had long since memorized. Her gaze remained steady and straight ahead until she was finished, standing up and heading to the chest at the foot of the bed. The elves had placed in it some clothes that she was free to wear about Rivendell, which she intended to do, as her other clothes were getting washed so that she had them for the journey ahead. Picking gowns out, she opened them and then folded them back up as she deemed them undesirable until finally she found a simple dress dyed a deep autumn red, the color of maple leaves in the fall. Shedding her nightclothes, she pulled it over her head and adjusted it until it fell precisely where she wanted it. Once that was completed, she exited the room and headed down towards the main areas of the elven city, her stomach guiding her to her breakfast in the dining hall.

As she settled down, sitting down, and placing her food in front of her, Gloin approached her and set his own plate down with a thump beside her. Turning her gaze to him, she offered him a smile, having finally shaken off the memories that had haunted her earlier. “Good morning!” She chirped to him in greeting, laughing when he only grumbled. She remembered the struggle of rousing the dwarves in the morning to get moving when they were traveling to the Lonely Mountain the first time. It had been entertaining to say the least, though the hobbit was far worse.

Not long after, the rest of the Dwarves that had ventured here to Rivendell, including Gimli – the Fellowship did not leave until tomorrow morning – joined their table, turning it into quite the gathering. Well, not really, as it was just the five of them, but nonetheless, Mythera possessed an unnatural talent for even turning the smallest of gatherings into an event.

“It’s a shame that Balin is not at the Mountain, he would’ve loved to see ya, lass.” Gloin commented in passing, and she blinked in surprise.

A slight frown marred her features. “Balin is gone? What else has happened?” She wondered, recalling that it was sixty years.

The older dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes at her. “Ye weren’t payin’ any attention during the meetin’ were ya?” But he could not deny her information on the friends she once held dear. “Aye, he, Ori, and Oin left Erebor to try and reclaim Khazadum.” He explained, watching as her expressions shifted from hope to sorrow.

“Then we will not meet again under the waking sun.” She said mournfully, her eyes downcast upon the table top. The gypsy knew that the lost dwarf kingdom held nothing but death in its grasp.

The younger dwarf frowned and banged on the table top. “They ‘ave no doubt been sittin’ pretty this entire time and forgotten to write back! Cousin Balin always gets immersed in his work and forgetful.”

She was not expecting him to defend it so tenaciously, but she simply nodded her head. After all, she had no proof, and she would not try and destroy his hopes to find his cousin and friends alive and well. However, she suspected the young dwarf was in for a shock, and based on the look his father gave her across the table, his beliefs were closer to her own.

“Bombur’s gotten so fat he’s got ta be carried e’erywhere, the fat lug.” The older dwarf brought up a more cheerful topic, and got the expected response.

She couldn’t help but laugh brightly at that. “Ah, really? Why am I not surprised?” Her smile was incredibly wide. “And his family still put up with it? How brave of poor Bofur and Bifur!” She teased, though the individuals were not present.

Gloin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh aye, they’re well enough off ta pay some poor wee young lads to do it.”

The gypsy was trying to imagine what a sight it must be, the massive redbearded dwarf being carried by others of his kin. It was an image that brought an easy smile to her face. “What of Dwalin?”

“He’s a right ol’ scrapper still. Mostl’ retired – still shows the young ‘uns a thing or two now and again.” He chuckled, and he could see her trying to picture the warrior dwarf in retirement of all things – many of them were considered old when they started the journey, and had only grown older still in the intervening years.

“How do Dori and Nori get by?” She asked – she had gotten rather close to the middle brother of the trio.

Here the dwarf sighed and stroked his beard. “They don’t talk much anymore. Not fightin’…just….ignorin’. Dori blames Nori for Ori leavin’ and vice versa, as usual.” And added under his breath “Not that they’re getting’ any younger for it the way they go on.”

Mythera was a touch saddened to find out that they were not getting on – one of the most difficult tasks of the journey had been restraining Dori’s mother hen nature and preventing his almost inevitable conflicts with his brother. The two simply didn’t see eye to eye, and while she could understand both sides of the story, she usually ended up siding with ‘thieving’ Nori. As she thought it over, really, most of the struggles of their journey had been those of forming and breaking bonds, and not so much the actual travel and trouble they got into. Dwarves are formidable fighters after all, and she was no slouch either. Years of traipsing the wilderness had made all but the burglar in their party hardy folk, used to lean diets and long days.

A soft sigh slipped from between her parted lips, a hazy faraway look in her eyes as she thought about the old days. It still seemed so recent to her, like it wasn’t that long ago, and yet the grey in her friend’s beard and the age in his face told her that to them it had been far longer. This was part of where she grew uncertain of her standing with them – she had vanished after the line of Durin had been laid to rest. For her, it was still occasionally an open wound – the loss too was more recent to her than to him. It was a strange sensation to be so out of touch with the world she loved and traveled so much.

The old dwarf watched her, silent and observant. It was one of the rare occasions wherein he might be able to determine what she was thinking – despite her bright and colorful personality, her thoughts were often kept her own. It had left her as a constant fascination to many of the dwarves, though they had all been highly suspicious of her, at first. Her words and actions matched, but her hidden thoughts and motives had worried them, in the beginning. Slowly and surely she won them over – certainly faster than the hobbit did, that was for certain. When her thoughts were revealed to them, many of them found they understood and agreed with her decisions and motives.

Occasionally she remained an alien creature, however. Her damned wanderlust had been quite problematic at times – you’d turn around and she would have squirreled off somewhere. Or she’d be pacing back and forth restlessly, bouncing on the balls of her feet and humming under her breath. That had been another area where she’d connected deeply to the Dwarves – for they treasured music, so did she, and they had been surprised to discover the similarities between their peoples.

Perhaps the strangest thing about her was her almost unearthly talent when it came to understanding and judging others and their actions. Much like Thorin, she was clearly a born leader – there was pride (though not to the Oakenshield extent), dignity, reason, but most of all a deep loyalty and love of her people. She would tilt up her chin, look you in the eyes, look into your soul it felt like at times, and pronounce her judgement. Not necessarily of you – of the situation, of what she had decided must be done, amongst other things.

It was a sigh that brought him out of his deep thoughts – the object of those thoughts was also blinking her way out of her own thoughtful reverie. To casual passerby it may have seemed that they were in a deep staring contest, though neither was aware of it. Gimli meanwhile had been left to his own devices while his father and friend sat in quiet silence. A glance at their faces told him of their thoughtfulness, though he muttered and grumbled to himself for a bit after they first fell quiet.

Upon their return to the world of the aware, he snorted at them. “Well, aren’t ya a pretty pair o’ old geezers, ruminatin’ on old things.” Naturally, at his age he had his own memories of what had occurred during the quest to the Lonely Mountain – he had begged and pleaded to go, but told he was simply too young. He was quite upset – he was only a few years younger than Fili and Kili – but perhaps it was for the best that he had remained behind with his mother and Lady Dis.

An unladylike snort was the gypsy response as she grinned playfully. “Oh yes! And one day you’ll be an old geezer too!” She retorted, leaning back in her seat.

His father scowled at him. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with lookin’ to the past, boy.”

Far too used to such lectures, Gimli was easily able to brush it off with a shrug and a roll of his eyes. Gloin of course grunted as he stood up and walked away from the table, finished with his meal and his son’s attitude. Meanwhile, the gypsy laughed softly to herself before rising up as well, nodding in respect to the dwarf.

Later that afternoon, after a few other various and sundry encounters – including a rather amusing one with the hobbits and Gandalf, she once again found herself in the training field. She watched quietly as a few elves stood in front of targets, practicing their archery. Naturally, included amongst those was the blonde, blue eyed elven prince that was also a member of the Fellowship. He was undoubtedly an extremely talented archer, and he had yet to miss a single shot.

At this rate, she was beginning to question her decision not to go with them, but once again that gut feeling returned that there was somewhere else she needed to be first, though it was beyond her comprehension. It was certainly not that she feared the journey or the danger – both of those she welcomed and could handle. It was not quite unlike a sense of foreboding, but also akin to the wanderlust that often plagued her heart. The brunette not knowing precisely what she was feeling at a given time was an unusually and extremely rare happening. Or at least, at this age in her life.

A soft sigh escaped her as she continued to watch the elves before her practicing, the steady rhythm of draw, fire, and reload, the soft thumps as arrows hit their targets, providing an easy channel for her mind to wander. That was twice this day, she suddenly came to realization, that she had been sucked up into her own thoughts, a rare occurrence. Mythera much preferred to live in the moment, feel the sun’s warmth and the rush of the wind, then whittle away her days lost in philosophical thought. Shaking away the drowsiness of thought, she glanced around for some sort of distraction or amusement.

Clearly luck was on her side at this moment, for the young princeling had just collected his arrows and was on his way out when he spotted her, approaching her easily with a small smile. “So we meet again, my lady.” He honestly hadn’t thought he would see her again before the Fellowship left.

“Indeed, my friend.” She smiled at him cheerfully, tucking her arms behind her body as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I suppose you, too, must be too busy with travel preparations to speak with me as well. Gandalf was quite harsh on the little ones when they stopped to speak with me.” The memory of earlier that afternoon made her giggle.

An easy chuckle flew from the elf’s lips. The gypsy woman was quite good at relaxing those around her and bringing them into a good humor. Though, the elf was normally good natured anyways. “Yes, but my packing is finished. And even if it were not, I still think I would find myself convinced to spare you some of my time.” He teased her lightly, having no doubt if she wished it she could have persuaded the wizard of much the same.

Laughter burst from her, and she was suddenly deeply relieved. The burden of her long thoughts earlier today was blown away by this newcomer, merriment. “I would do no such thing! One must always be properly prepared for a journey!” She scolded him.

“Perhaps, but gypsies are always in need of entertaining, and I fear my lady has found me to be such!” He gestured for her to walk alongside him as they headed towards the main portion of the elven city, cutting through a section of the gardens.

A lopsided smile graced her lips, dimpling her cheeks. “But alas! It seems I have been found out! I shall have to discover a new source of amusement!”

Their banter continued to move back and forth in such manner, lighthearted teasing and playful words. Perhaps it was not a surprise – the bright and colorful nature of gypsies made them more akin to elves than the stern men that inhabited this world. The easy conversation that flowed between the pair as they entered some of the common areas of Rivendell drew a little attention to them, but many were simply busy with their own preparations, too busy to pay attention to such a simple and meager thing. The gazes that flicked their way were in fact mostly those of other members of the Fellowship or the elves of Mirkwood.

Legolas found himself surprisingly fascinated by the gypsy – she had many outlooks that were not shared amongst her closest kin, the race of Men. He could not understand how Calanon could take such a strong dislike to her. She was extremely likeable to begin with, and capable of interesting conversation, as he had rediscovered every moment spent in her presence. That reminded him….

“You seem quite close to Mithrandir.” He spoke, having meaning to ask one of them about it. While the two did not seem to interact much, when they did, there was just a certain warmth there.

His question caught her off guard, but a smile twitched at her lips nonetheless. “I am. My people call him ‘Grey Grandfather’ but he really is like a grandfather to me. He’s the only family member I have here.” She sighed softly as her mind drifted to her brother and father for a moment. “He’s actually the only reason I’m here at all.” Laughing at the elf’s confused face, she explained further. “Gandalf is the reason my parents met.”

The blonde nodded, paying close attention. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hazel eyes seemed to catch the light and practically glowed with energy – then again that seemed to radiate from her entire being. “Truly?”

“My father met him when he was taken by his wanderlust. The canny old wizard offered to take him on an adventure and off they went. My mother lived here – she was not born a gypsy.” She explained as they carried on walking through the gardens. “The pair of them met when my father stopped for a rest here in Rivendell – apparently Gandalf practically steered them straight to each other. When my father returned here again on his way home, he stayed here for seven months attempting to woo her, or so I am told. She eventually agreed to return home with him.” She smiled at the story.

The elf chuckled where appropriate, clearly the woman was quite fond of her parents. Also the thought of the old wizard playing matchmaker was entertaining in and of itself. “As always, an entertaining tale where Gandalf’s involved.”

The brunette laughed at that, nodding her head in agreement. “Undoubtedly”

A third voice cut in, an immediately recognizable rough tone filled with merriment. “What was that about my involvement?”

**AN: Disclaimer: I no own Hobbit or LOTR. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to take so long – I had a busy summer, and then the blasted writer’s block hit! I tried to make it longer so you would forgive me. At last we start to reach the fun important things!** **J**

 

 


	13. Of Farewells

“Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.” - JRR Tolkein

Of Farewells

Mythera smiled and shook her head. “Only that you are a very meddlesome old man!” She quipped as she danced away on light feet, giggling softly at her own impudence. “You have endlessly gotten father and I into trouble!”

The elf watched with amusement, curious as to what was about to happen. He knew Mithrandir to be good tempered, but even he had limited patience.

The wizard stepped into their sight and walked towards the grinning gypsy woman. “My dear, as you said yourself, I am the Grey Grandfather. Getting you into trouble comes with the job, I’m afraid.” He teased with a small smile, blue eyes twinkling merrily. It was a small relief from organizing their journey with Lord Elrond and managing the young hobbits.

“Alas, fate is cruel.” She said, barely holding in her laughter as she acted dramatic towards her dear friend.

Chuckling, Gandalf tugged her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her torso and holding tight. Naturally, she flung her arms around the grey robed older man, returning the embrace and pressing her face against his robes and breathing in the scent of pipe smoke and maybe the faintest hint of fireworks. It was moments like this that reminded her why it wasn’t such a bad thing that her wanderlust was yet unsated.

“Now, are you finished being silly, my dear?” He asked as he released her, holding her at arm’s length and giving her a considerate gaze.

“I suppose, for the moment. Did you need something?” Clearly he needed something if he was giving her such an appraising look, and she knew when to be serious or take others seriously.

“Yes. I’m afraid I must take your companion away from you for some urgent business.” He explained as the wizard finally released her and turned towards the elf that had been walking with her. “Some of the other elves from Mirkwood are looking for their prince. A gentleman by the name of Calanon, if I recall rightly.”

Legolas let out a sigh and dipped his head in apology towards the gypsy. “I suppose I must be going, my lady. If I do not see you again ere we leave, farewell.” He knew he ought to be responsible, as reluctant as he was to end the cheerful moments he’d been spending with the woman. So, though he lingered for perhaps a moment, he turned and left her alone with the wizard, seeking out his woodland kin.

Gandalf the Grey gazed at his young friend quietly, his blue eyes taking in her appearance and her slowly fading smile. He would not wish any ill will upon her, but for once in his long years of knowing her, he wished that she did not still possess her wanderlust. He did not desire her to be in danger, though she was more than capable of handling herself, her people could remain hidden away on their island and be alright. Then again, her determination to do right by all people, not just her own, was one of the reasons he could respect her as much as he did. Letting out a sigh, he released her completely and took a step back, suddenly feeling old and tired.

Sensing her friend was thinking deeply, she did not speak out at first. At his sigh, she gently set a hand on his arm, her own eyes turning serious as she gave him a deep contemplating look, and even though the wizard was normally immune to her reading looks, even he could feel the piercing pressure of her gaze this time. “My friend, what has you so worried?” She inquired, though she could guess at the answer.

Knowing he could confide in the young gypsy ruler-in-exile, he lightly patted the hand on his arm. “I would not have seen Frodo bear this burden any longer.” Gandalf explained, turning to continue in the direction she had been walking with the elvish prince.

Walking with the wizard, she gazed at his wise features for a moment before looking away, leaving her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walked sedately together along the path. “I am sorry, I know he means much to you. Still, each of us has our burdens to bear. His is simply heavier than most.” Mythera knew her old friend was not in need of comfort, at least none that she could offer.

“He is not the only one.” A weak chuckled left his bearded lips. “Yourself, Aragorn, Boromir…each of you has an exceptional burden to bear. And somehow, there is a deep hope in my heart that tells me that we may succeed. We must.”

Listening to her old friend, she found herself nodding her head as she looked at him. “I will do all I can in my power to help, you know that. Something in my heart says we will meet again, though I cannot go with you.”

If there was one thing the grey wizard had learned through his acquaintance with the young woman, it was that her instincts were nearly always right. And if hers told her that she should follow a different path, he would believe her. “Ah, so your wolf still speaks to you?” He asked, his tone dropping in volume, knowing it was something she wished kept secret – it had taken him months to wrangle the truth out of her in this matter.

She jerked away slightly, growling softly in the back of her throat as her eyes narrowed at the old man. “You know I do not like to speak of it.” She hissed at him, less than pleased as the topic brought up. “But yes, if you must know.”

Sighing, he shook his head. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he should have expected such a reaction – she strongly disliked thinking or speaking about it. Honestly, he had his suspicions that this particular aspect of her being was why her wander lust hadn’t subsided – and if he was correct, it never would. “I am sorry for upsetting you dear, but I need to know these things. It is not a thing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed.” She responded angrily, frowning. “But even you do not understand it – how am I to acknowledge it when I don’t understand it?”

“My dear, you don’t need to understand it. It is a part of you, and not something you can just ignore. If you can’t accept it, how can you expect others too? It has not changed anything between us.” He reminded her, wondering how this had turned from her comforting him to a discussion on the one thing she held as her deepest secret.

Letting out a deep sigh, she shook her head. “I suppose so. But you are a wizard, these sorts of things are what you deal with as such. Most people would stare at me as if I had grown a second head!” She found herself laughing softly at the notion.

Chuckling along with his dear friend, he found himself relaxing somehow. It was one of the strange qualities he had noticed about all gypsies – their laughter was infectious, able to lift people’s hearts no matter what the situation.

Carrying on their walk, they switched topics, discussing the many things that had happened since Mythera had last walked amongst those that dwelled here on the mainland. Then, she caught up the wizard on the happenings of the gypsy tribes. Admittedly, significantly less had happened for them; after all, it seemed to them it had only been two years since she had returned.

Elrond had been standing up on one of his balcony, watching his people move to help prepare to send off the Fellowship on their journey. Spying his old friend walking along with the gypsy woman, he chuckled softly. Those two were surprisingly close for individuals whom did not see much of one another. Admittedly, he was equally fascinated by her people as Gandalf; they were a strange group, that was for certain. He watched them for a few more moments before turning to head inside and return to his duties as the master of Imladris.

At last, they found themselves back near the center of activity of the elven city, and the pair each went their separate ways to go and finish up their business to prepare for their departure, after all, the Fellowship would take their first steps into the outside world in the morning.

 

 

Naturally, when morning came, Mythera was amongst the small group of Elves, Men, and Dwarves present to see off the Fellowship on the first steps of their journey. Many had already said their more personal goodbyes to their friends and family, though some were still speaking – Calanon was talking rapidly to Legolas in Elvish, and Bilbo was still embracing Frodo. Smiling lightly, she walked towards the wizard who was speaking a last parting remark to Lord Elrond.

Turning to face his dear friend, he smiled back at her. “May we meet again, Lady Zara.” Even in these parting moments he couldn’t help but to tease her.

Laughing softly, she could only roll her eyes and shake her head at the mockery. “I wish you well on your journey, Grey Grandfather. May the wind be at your back, and the sun on your sails, with good weather and fortune.” The traditional gypsy farewell fell from her lips easily, and then before she could stop herself, a more personal farewell followed. “Promise me, when you see a white rose…” She cut herself off as she realized what she was saying.

Smiling gently at his dear friend, he nodded his head, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “And the same goes for you my dear.” That she felt she was close enough to him that he received the familial promise from her meant a lot to the old wizard. It was a sign of just how dear he was to her, and the feeling was mutual.

The gypsy woman had admitted it on several occasions, but this was only further proof for herself to back it up: the grey wizard was like a grandfather to her. He was dear to her, and certainly worthy of the title of family. “I will.” She made the promise in a heart beat, glad that her slip up seemed to go unnoticed by the majority. With a final nod towards the wizard and one last smile, the two broke apart and Gandalf turned to join his companions.

Gimli nodded in the direction of the strange lass that was dubbed Dwarf-friend, and she smiled and nodded back at him. The elven prince to found himself wishing her farewell, and the hobbits did much the same, recalling her kindness on the occasions they had spent in her presence. From the Southerner she received nothing, though she expected as much. The Ranger of the North met her gaze and inclined his head gracefully, and she returned the gesture.

Lord Elrond spoke, wishing the group well. “For those that go, no oath or bond is laid upon you to go further than you will. The free peoples of Middle Earth rely on you.”

Finally, just as the sun peaked over the ridge, the group of nine turned and left Rivendell, vanishing into the grey morning light and the woods surrounding the Elven city. Those that remained spent a few moments standing in quiet silence, even after the last of the Fellowship’s shadows had disappeared. Slowly the group dispersed, many heading to gather their own belongings and head out into the world to return to their respective homes.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Thank you all for reading, I love you!~~


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